


Hands that hold my feeble heart

by Beweme



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Complicated Relationships, Coping, Depression, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I will give warnings in the beginning of the chap, M/M, NSFW, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, aftermath of rape, beating up the fave, charlie is angry, depends how you feel about it, dubcon, guilt complex, maxwell is good guy but also an idiot, maxwell needs help, suicidal behavior, webber is baby, willow is bitch but I love her, wilson is broken baby but also and idiot, wilson needs even more help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 83,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beweme/pseuds/Beweme
Summary: A horrible assault leaves Wilson scared, hurt and anxious, and he finds unexpected help from his former enemy, who has his own demons to fight as well.
Relationships: Charlie & Maxwell (Don't Starve), Maxwell & Wilson (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve), Willow & Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 120





	1. I used to hate tentacles

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as kind of a venting fic, then it turned into a "I wrote this one scene and now I have to write the whole plot around it" and then it was like Help I can't stop fic.  
> English is not my first language, so I'm sorry for grammar and mistakes, I try my best. Criticism is welcome but I will still probably cry.
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter has elements of rape/non-con.

Wilson screamed out loud, stopping to bite his lower lip in between the painful thrusts that were forced upon him. He could only watch helplessly as his attacker panted and growled in pleasure. He wanted to scream and cry and fight, and even when it only increased the pain he couldn't stop trying. The surprisingly sharp, filthy claws sunk into his hips when his violator moved it's own back and forth, impassive to the man's cries, pinning him tightly to the dirty piece of cloth that serves as a makeshift bed.

This shouldn't be happening. It couldn't be! Wilson took sharp breaths trying to fight back the tears as the big, slimy member thrust deep inside him painfully. The merms had always been hostile and it wasn't uncommon to have to fight for your life in the swamp, but usually when you were taken by surprise, you could at least run for it. The merms weren't that smart, they only mindlessly attacked whoever came too close to the village and croaked whatever weird language they did. But this one did not.

This one was some sort of special case in every meaning of the word. Wilson didn't know what was wrong with it, but it was clearly different from others of it's kind. Never before had he been dragged forcibly inside the merm's broken down hut by one. Never had he been knocked out and have his wrists tied with some kind of seaweed (?). Never had he felt so confused and scared and violated in his life.

This merm had issues. It looked lonely the way that only a social outcast could look. Maybe it was starved for company or something like that. Nevertheless, it had made it's intentions very clear when it had started to pant heavily, and awkwardly climbed over Wilson and started to rip of his pants.

And Wilson had never felt more helpless and distraught in his life. His whole body felt hot despite the cold feeling dwelling in his gut, he couldn't stop thinking about what was happening but his mind was fighting to escape it, to black out and forget. He kept telling himself that this was not happening, not now, not ever, it was just a bad dream. A very bad dream that his low sanity must've caused, so why didn't he wake up? Why didn't he wake up, wake up already, wake up Wilson _please wake up!_

A member inside him moved in uneven phase and in every pull Wilson prayed it to be over. He tried to shelter his ears from the groans of pleasure the merm made, tried to stop his shaky body from trembling and twitching, tried to simultaneously press his eyes close to deny this whole situation, and look for a way to escape. He could hear his own yells of pain and fear ringing in his ears, and his eyes had started to wet from tears so badly he could only vaguely see the dark green silhouette over him, and the shadows growing longer when the long autumn day slowly turned into dusk.

\---

Maxwell looked over his shoulder. He was sure he heard something, someone. It sounded very much like a certain idiot scientist who he had been traveling with, up until they had run into the other group of survivors, which made Wilson glad and Maxwell very displeased. Neither of the men really cared for company that much, but there was safety in numbers and it seemed Wilson had warm feelings towards few of them, hinting that he knew them from before. And, of course, they all knew Maxwell. How could they not? Really, at this point it would've been almost offensive not to remember the man that had brought them all here. Which was the main reason why the former King wasn't exactly over the moon about the idea of joining the bigger group. Living together with people who wanted you dead wasn't very comforting feeling, but nonetheless the group was much larger one, and for the sake of survival they had decided to stick together.

Not because they wanted to, but because there was the primal instinct to survive in one way or another, and beggars couldn't be choosers. The truce was made in order to live to see another day.

Maxwell already recognized every single one of their voices, but the distant screams didn't sound like any of them, no. They were most definitely Wilson's.

Letting a heavy sigh out of his nose Maxwell took his backpack and started to walk fastly towards the noise, voicelessly commanding one of his shadow clones to follow. He swore to god he sometimes felt like he was babysitting them all. They were always in trouble, always hurt, always just a few moments away from the complete mental breakdown and always half-way to the death's door. Why, _oh why_ , was he the only capable one in this god forsaken world.

He muttered something under his breath, now walking on the dark, muddy marsh turf. He hated the swamp. Everyone did. When compared to cons, the particular part of the world seemed to have much less pros than it was worth of. It had certainly been funny to watch from afar how many times the survivors got slapped in the face by tentacle or sting by mosquito, but now that he had to be part of that farce, he greatly regretted ever making the damned place at all. Either way Maxwell strode onward, hastily looking for Wilson's stupid hairdo and red vest. He could swear the man's voice came from the swamp, somewhere.

Maxwell cursed under his breath, when suddenly a familiar scream broke his angry muttering, much closer this time. But it was also... Muffled? It was close, but it was like there was some obstacle in the way that was blocking the sound. The man stood still, his pupils dashing all over the muddy place. He couldn't see a thing as of yet, so he moved closer to the screams to find their source, only thinking that it was strange, the swamp was very barren environment. There were hardly any plants or trees, even the larger spider nests were located far and few between, so where could Higgsbury have hidden himself? Surely the ground couldn't have swallowed the man whole, not even in the Constant.

Maxwell started to approach the area where he could see the mermhouses scattered here and there. Ah, yes, yet another reason to hate this particular area. If Wilson went and got himself injured in the middle of mermvillage, he was not gonna let the man go without some scolding of his stupidity. Maxwell kept a good distance, making sure he didn't get too close to any of the houses.

A Scream, uncharacteristically high-pitched one, on the right. Maxwell's eyes darted to the direction, but he only saw a single rundown hut stand alone in the isolated corner of the area. He knitted his eyebrows. There was a broken spear and a backpack near the lonely puddle next to it, but no owner, no sign of the man they belonged to - except for his voice, now very close and clearly identifiable.

Maxwell felt suspicion rise inside him, but no matter how unlikely it felt that even Wilson was stupid enough to get _in_ the mermhouse, the man slowly and quietly took a few steps towards the house, and leaned to peek inside the window. And his heart sank.

There was Wilson, kicking the air, struggling to get away, letting out the screams and gasps, occasionally thrusting his eyes shut and biting his lip. It was odd how cold Maxwell felt inside, because he could swear his blood was boiling. 

He didn't waste time thinking, he just acted. 

\---

Wilson's heart jumped to his throat when the door was rather easily but forcefully kicked in, but as soon as he saw the face of the man he loathed oh-so-much in front of him, he had never felt such a relief in his heart.

"Maxwell!" He croaked, giving the other frightened smile that radiated both the hope of being rescued, and the fear of this somehow being some sort of cruel joke on him.

The merm jumped up and roared, and Wilson yelped when the pressure inside him eased and the claws let go of his sides.

Maxwell dodged the merm's attack, allowing his shadow clone to step into battle instead, and dug the axe from his bag. He was not fit to the direct combat and didn't wish to be injured unnecessarily. He didn't have time for it now, anyway.

"Maxwell, untie me!" Wilson's panicky voice gasped behind him, and the taller man turned around and rose his weapon to cut the ties, freeing Wilson from the bed frame.

"We have to go, now" Maxwell muttered while Wilson struggled to pull his pants back on, and before he could even close the last button, Maxwell already yanked his arm and made a run for it. A pain shot through Wilson and he yelled, falling on the ground and gritting his teeth.

"What? What is it?" Maxwell stopped, genuinely worried but also in hurry to leave. The other merms could be here any moment now, and when it got dark... Maxwell glanced at the sky.

"I don't think I can run!" He could hear Wilson trying to stand up. They didn't have time for this. He could have just ran and leave the other man behind, but it would've repealed the whole reason he was here in the first place.

With a low grunt Maxwell hunched down next to his not-quite-a-friend. "Climb on" He turned his back on Wilson who didn't waste any time and lifted himself on. In any other circumstances he would never let anyone even think about getting on his back, but Wilson could not move fast enough, and Maxwell didn't fancy the idea of waiting around to either the other merms to come out, tentacles spiking them or Charlie getting to their sorry asses. As long as they stayed on the road, they should make it out alive just fine.

Maxwell felt Wilson's forearms squeeze his throat while his fingers clutched the striped fabric of his jacket, and the shorter man's forehead pressed tightly against his neck, but the tall man didn't complain. He was too focused getting as far away from the swamp as possible, he needed to get Wilson to camp as fast as he could and then- _shit_. He glanced at the sky. The night fell always much faster than he liked. They couldn't make it to the base tonight.

After getting a fair distance away without risking the night catching them off guard, Maxwell leaned down and let Wilson drop from his back. God, the other weighted way more than he seemed.

"Why... why are we stopping?" the man questioned.

"We need to camp here tonight. The night is nearly upon us." He could see Wilson from the corner of his eye, standing up rather clumsily and looking at the sky, then turning away to face the swamp in the distance "Can't we make torches and-"

"No. I don't have enough material for that and your stuff was left behind where you dropped it. Unless you want to go and get it, we are camping here."

Wilson seemed to shiver to the idea of returning to the swamp, and Maxwell was surprised that he managed to sound as stable as he did when he responded.

"No, it's fine."

That was the last exchange of words before the silence fell over them. Maxwell made campfire and Wilson stood silently beside him just... watching. It was unnerving. The scientist never missed the opportunity to make cheeky remarks of how things should be done, how his method was the only right one and Maxwell was doing it wrong and blah blah blah. Now he didn't offer as much as an disapproving snorts. Nothing. It was really, really unnerving indeed.

The night finally swallowed the world whole and the small ring of light was the only thing left to protect them from the pitch black void. Wilson tapped his foot nervously on the ground, circling thoughts in his mind, trying to ignore the vague, light gray shadows in the corner of his eye. It's ok. He was ok. Maxwell was here, and he wasn't alone. He was safe now. It's ok. Maxwell was here now, nothing to worry about. It's ok, Maxwell was here with him, he wasn't-

"Right. Take off your pants then."

A sudden, unexpected request (More like a demand, it sounded) made Wilson stop his train of thought and slowly turn to look at Maxwell, who had apparently taken off his coat and was now rolling up his sleeves.

"Uh, what- No!" Wilson managed to protest, staring at the other man like he was insane. Maxwell only sighed and took three steps towards him. Wilson took three steps back. Maxwell looked annoyed, more so than usual, but stopped.

"Don't be difficult Higgsbury, we have to check you for injuries. If there is any bigger damage and it goes untreated, it will get infected."

Wilson shook his head, still staring at Maxwell in disbelief.

"Like it or not, we have to check. Take off your pants."

Another furious head-shake. Wilson wrapped his arms protectively around himself.

"No."

Maxwell let out a frustrated groan and started walking closer.

"God dammit Higgsbury, do you always have to make such a big deal out o-" his words were cut short when Wilson pushed him backwards. Not strong enough to make Maxwell lose his balance, but forcefully enough to make his point clear.

"Do not touch me!!" he yelled at surprised Maxwell, taking defensive stand and looking at him wildly. Maxwell was quiet for a moment. He didn't know what to do in situations like this. He hadn't had to comfort people in a long time and was rather rusty with any sort of sympathy, it had never been his strength. Usually if either of them got hurt in someway that required help from the other, he would just do what needed to be done, and they would fight about it afterwards, insults and threats flying after they were both patched up and healing.

But this situation was a little different. Well, it was a whole lot of different. It was much more delicate, sensitive. Wilson had gotten hurt in the way that Maxwell wouldn't wish even his most hated enemies would have to, but despite it Wilson still needed to be checked up, just in case. What if he was bleeding? What if his flesh had torn open? He could die!

"Higgsbury. Do not test my patience. This is common check up after incidents, you know it. Now: Take. Off. Your. Pants."

Wilson could hear Maxwell's frustration grow with every word that came out, but he still furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. Maxwell couldn't make him. He was stronger than the old bastard, he could take him on if he needed to, injured or not.

Suddenly, as if Maxwell was reading his mind, a pair of shadowy hands appeared behind him, and Wilson realized too late that two of Maxwell's shadow puppets had sneaked up on him from behind and were now holding him by the arms, preventing him from moving.

Panic immediately rose it's head and Wilson started yanking his arms free, fighting to escape, his breathing getting faster. Maxwell was really a one sly devil. Of course he would try some sneaky tricks, when had he ever fought fair? Wilson struggled against the firm grip of the shadows. He would rather face the deathly embrace of the darkness than let this happen. He couldn't, he already felt bad enough without being tormented further by Maxwell, who, Wilson noticed in horror, had closed the small space between them and was now starting to unbutton his trousers. In the state of absolute terror Wilson cried out and kicked Maxwell right in the chest, and this time it was enough to make him fall over and let out a painful and furious grunt.

"NO! Don't touch me! Do not fucking touch me you bastard!" Wilson yelled, still fighting. Maxwell hoisted himself on his elbows, gritting his teeth. He didn't give Wilson an answer, but stood up slowly and glared him dangerously. The man took in a sharp breath. He was visibly angry and without any audible command from him, Wilson noticed that the shadows started to push him on the ground, keeping their grips much tighter than before. 

Wilson was forced on his back, and through his throwing and yelling and crying he could see Maxwell walk over with displeased expression on his face, and the man leaned over him like a predator about to end the life of it's prey. Suddenly Wilson was scared for his life. Maxwell felt even more threatening now than he ever was in any of his monstrous forms, looming ominously over him, without saying a word. The said man rose his hand to act and Wilson automatically turned to hide his face on his shoulder, in desperate attempt to escape the situation.

" _Maxwell please don't please nonono please please no!_ " he blurted out, tears in his eyes and saliva dropping down from his lower lip he was biting, sobs escaping his throat.

And Maxwell didn't. What ever he was about to do, it didn't happen, and for a short moment the only noises in the forest were Wilson's frantic sobs and the quiet crackle of the fireplace.

After a while, still anxious over the uncertainty of the wait, but calmed by the fact that no harm initially came to him after all, Wilson felt his breaths slowly getting steadier. He wasn't feeling secure by any means, but at least Maxwell wasn't touching him. Or saying anything, Wilson noticed. The silence lasted a while longer, until Maxwell finally spoke after what felt like eternity, and his voice was calm. Somehow even... soft. It was deep, and slow. And, no matter how strange it sounded, for the first time in his life Wilson couldn't sense any malice in it whatsoever.

"I'm not going to hurt you. But if you already are hurt, we need to know, and we need to treat you accordingly. You can't do it yourself. This is unpleasant for me, and only god knows how unpleasant it is for you. But I promise I'm only going to help."

Wilson sniffed, mustering enough courage to open his eyes and look at Maxwell. His face was stolid, but there was something else in his general demeanor that Wilson couldn't pinpoint, something that felt amiss, but not necessarily in a bad way. He moved his eyes between Maxwell and the ground, thinking.

"How do I know you won't use this in your advantage? You have tendency of doing so." he stated cautiously. Maxwell had never been his friend. He might have felt like a friend when he was nothing but a voice in the radio, but then he turned out as an enemy, a source of all of his problems and suffering, and after they both were freed from the throne and ended up in this messed up world together, they partnered up for safety and convenience. But there was always this lingering sense of threat around the man. Maxwell had never let his guard down, and he left a lot of things untold to the point it was almost dangerous, and he was good at lying and manipulating people, and obviously looking out for himself more than anyone else, if he cared about anyone else at all. He knew how to play people. And even though they got along as much as they needed to survive, there was still a silent unspoken understanding between them that things were not forgotten nor forgiven.

And now, looking at Maxwell's eyes in the dim light of the fire, Wilson could tell that the older man was thinking the same thing as well.

"Higgsbury, do I really need to fight with you over this? if I really wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would've just left you where I found you and pretended I never knew where you were? I could have just walked away you know, maybe nobody would have ever even found you. Is that what you would've preferred? Because trust me, I can fix that real fast."

Wilson shuddered and closed his eyes, not trying to hide a whimper escaping his lips. Even the mere thought that he wouldn't have been rescued made him sick to his stomach. He'd rather not think about it, he was not in the right mindset to face such a terrifying thought.

Maxwell sighed and shook his head.

"I'm... Sorry, that was uncalled for."

Was it, really? It was unpleasant to hear or even think, but in a way it was true. Maxwell didn't have to help him. There was usually more than one merm in the house, and Maxwell was... Well, he was fragile. It was kind of brave to rescue him, so close to nightfall no less.

Wilson swallowed and licked his lips nervously. What choice did he even have? Maxwell was right. If there was a wound and it wouldn't be taken care of, it would get infected, and he would suffer the pain and fever and most likely die a very slow, painful death.

He nodded, slightly, barely even enough to be seen.

"...I-I... Fine. Do what you have to do."

Maxwell nodded back, and very carefully undressed Wilson, which felt even more unpleasant, and right as the man was about to open his legs to inspect the damage, Wilson cleared his throat.

"You... You can tell your shadows to let me go now." Wilson felt his cheeks burning up. He wanted to get this over with, and Maxwell could at the very least grand him the smallest amount of dignity of not being forcefully held down during it. Maxwell raised his other brow but didn't say a word.

"...I promise I won't punch you. O-or kick." Wilson tried to convince him, and for a second it seemed that his pleas fell to deaf ears, until surprisingly enough, the shadow puppets let go of his arms and slowly walked away in the darkness where they came from.

Wilson rose on his elbows for a second, but let himself fall back down soon after. He let out a heavy, shuddering sigh and covered his eyes with his other arm.

He could feel Maxwell's long, cold fingers on his tender and very sore skin. The man wiped away the mess that was dirt and blood and god Wilson didn't want to think what else, and he did it carefully and slowly. Wilson wanted to be more grateful, but truth be told he would've preferred if Maxwell could just hurry up so this would all be over sooner. Never in his life had he been so badly, completely and throughoutly humiliated than he was right now. Knowing that he was laying there, legs spread out, fully exposed to someone else's eyes, feeling so small and helpless made his ears burn hot and his eyes itch with the tears of shame. And, that someone who saw him in this state, saw him at his lowest point, of course it just _had_ to be Maxwell...

Wilson started biting his lip to suffocate the incoming sob, only now fully being able to register everything. Maxwell saw him. He saw him being pushed down, being used and scared and hurt. He saw when that.. that creature was inside him, filling him with something inhuman, making him scream and cry like a trapped rabbit.

Wilson couldn't fight back another sob that came out of him more as a wet hiccup.

"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Maxwell asked, and if Wilson had felt more like a man and less like a filthy animal, he would have been able to remove his hand from his eyes and answer. 

"It's not that bad, luckily. You are a little bit torn, but we just add some healing salve over it and hopefully, it will heal in a few days."

There was a pause. Wilson wondered if Maxwell waited for an answer, but he was too fragile to offer him one right now. He was just tired. And yet he felt like if he tried to sleep, he could not.

There was a clank, then rattle of the flames. Maxwell was probably feeding the fire. Right now Wilson couldn't have cared less if it went out and they would both die in the dark. He wanted to turn away from the glow, but he didn't want to move an inch. Everything was painful and horrible.

He felt Maxwell return and start putting salve on him. For the first time that day Wilson could say that the act didn't hurt. The healing salve was cool and soft, and even though it stank pretty bad, it was almost immediate remedy for his aching bottom. It soothed his mind, even if only a little.

"krhmn. Well. That's done now, so. Can you dress yourself up?"

Wilson nodded. Then shook his head. Then shrugged.

He heard how Maxwell let air out of his nose in a fashion that mimicked a mother that was at her last nerve with a small child but managed to still keep her cool despite all the odds. Heedfully the man pulled up Wilson's underwear, fit his foot in the pant leg, then the other, and slipped his hand under the scientist's back to lift him up so he could pull the pants up with his free arm. 

Wilson tensed up with every new touch, but kept quiet and hid under his arm. He didn't know Maxwell was capable of being so careful and gentle. Sure Maxwell was physically much weaker so it should've been expected, but instead the man still somehow managed to be rude and heavy-handed, mean, dour, even violent sometimes, and he was overall unpleasant to be around let alone any closer than was needed to.

This side of Maxwell was new to him. But something about it was oddly honest, even a little vulnerable in a way. Maxwell wasn't shooting any nasty comments at him, not belittling him or acting smug. Even though Maxwell didn't really seem to be worried, he was definitely not acting not-worried either. It was confusing, it made Wilson question if he had hit his head so badly that caused him to hallucinate. His head didn't hurt, though.

The two of them settled in the silence, listening the fire and the sounds that echoed from the darkness somewhere, the creatures of the night chittering there quietly.

Suddenly Wilson let out a sad chuckle.

"You know, I used to really hate tentacles. I thought that they were the nastiest and most disgusting thing in the world. Just the _worst!_ " He sniffed and laughed again.

Maxwell just stared, not sure if he should say something.

"I thought 'Aww man I hope I don't run into any tentacles today, I hate them more than anything!' I just loathed them, you know." The chuckles creeped in between his words, and Maxwell could see him smiling faintly.

"Well, what do you know! I don't think tentacles are the worst thing in the swamp anymore. Hehe... heh." Wilson's voice cracked and he swallowed a sob, still trying to mask his feelings behind the laugh.

Maxwell tapped his thumbs together restlessly. He was very worried, and he didn't like it. Wilson might be a brave man and a great survivor, but sometimes the world can beat you down so low it's almost impossible to get back up. He glanced at the other man who was still laying on his back, one arm over his face. The magician wondered if he should say something. Do something. He was angry about what had happened, but there was nothing he could do about it now, unless he found a way to travel to the past and prevent it ever happening in the first place. But maybe he could do something good to Wilson to help ease his pain right now, that was the least he could do. Whatever the other man needed.

He cleared his throat.

"So, uhh" Damn, it was difficult. He was not good at things like this "Are you hungry? I have some berries if you want."

Wilson shook his head. Ok then, he was not hungry. Maxwell fell silent again, calculating his next move. He was afraid he'd accidentally make the situation worse if he was not careful. Maybe it'd be better to let Wilson just rest for now, to prevent his sanity drain at least. Maxwell got up and started to walk to his backpack.

"You should probably try to get some sleep. Eat in the morning. I'm going to-"

He almost fell face first on the ground when suddenly Wilson swung on his side and grabbed his ankle without a warning.

"Please don't go!" The man cried, only barely maintaining his voice below the scream.

Maxwell gave him a look. Wilson usually didn't like his company, but considering the circumstances it was not surprising that he wanted it now. It was even a little alarming. If he needed someone at the moment, he didn't really have many options, seeing as Maxwell was the only one present. Poor Wilson, had to settle for him.

He sighed and sat next to Wilson, who slowly eased his grip on his feet, until finally letting go when Maxwell didn't give any signs of getting back up again.

"You know Higgsbury, maybe Mrs. Wickerbottom would know how to help you."

"N-no, I don't want anyone to know. Please don't tell them."

Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You really shouldn't keep this to yourself..."

He flinched when he felt Wilson's hand softly place over his own. The other man was now laying on his side, head rested next to Maxwell, avoiding his eyes.

"Please."

A long sigh escaped Maxwell's slightly parted lips, and he run his hand over his hair. He didn't like to keep secrets from the others. Firstly, they already had trust issues with him and he didn't feel like adding more to that pile, and secondly, he knew by own experience that keeping your problems all to yourself only made things so much worse.

"Are you sure?" he asked slowly, weighting the words to empathize the gravity of them. but he already knew what Wilson would answer, the stubborn idiot. 

The short man nodded a little too many times in a row, and finally looked up at Maxwell, who in turn closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Fine. I won't tell them. But mark my words, this is going to end badly in one way or another."

Like everything in this world, he added in his mind.


	2. A little bit of trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell decides to keep an eye on Wilson.

The walk back to the base was slow and silent. Wilson took short, tense steps and even when he insisted that he was much better now and he could handle it, it was quite clear that he could not. He was without a doubt a very proud and stubborn man, and a very terrible liar.

They didn't talk about the incident, the unspoken words hanging over them like a smoke of the distant fire.

Even when they finally arrived at the base camp and people gathered around, questioning why neither of them did return last night, worried but glad to see them still alive, Wilson just brushed it off like it was nothing and grinned like an idiot.

"We were too far and I guess it got a bit too late, so we were stuck in the forest. Sorry Willow. I promise not to do it again, ok?" Wilson smiled apologetically, and not long after the man busied himself with some science project that would 'most definitely save them this time'. As if any previous attempts hadn't completely backfired on him, terribly.

Maxwell never received much of a welcome when he returned to the camp after failing to die everyday, but that only eased his mind, at least he told himself so as he walked to sit on the log and opened Codex Umbra. If nobody trusted in his return, he didn't have to return. He was, in a way, better off than any of them. No unnecessary bonds meant no hurt when inevitably somebody died. And even if in this world it was possible to come back from the death, it was not guaranteed. There was only so much touchstones in the world and some day they would realize that even their precious life giving amulets were rare and hard-to-made luxury, and as for the ghosts...

Maxwell absentmindedly glanced at Abigail who hovered behind Wendy, whispering ever-so-quietly words that only Wendy could hear. Apart from her, the ghosts could not linger within the living forever. It only caused harm both ways, it only made things worse. So, as long as he had no ties made, he didn't have to cut them. Simple as that.

Still, an unwelcomed thought creeped into his mind, still he found himself thinking about the scientist. Whether the magician liked it or not, he was worried, and he could try to deny that to the end of the days, but he would still catch himself searching for the red vest and spiky haircut and hastily shaved beard amongst the people. He wanted... no, he needed to keep an eye on him. Just in case. Wilson wasn't good at keeping his sanity in check even when something lesser had happened, and the last thing they needed was a nervous wreck of a man serving as a gateway to terrorbeaks, nighthands and other shadow creatures that were attracted to mental instability.

That, Maxwell told himself, was the only reason he cared at all. Not because he liked any of them, but because... Just because. And that was good enough reason to him, at least for now.

That night he entered Wilson's tent without permission, which clearly disturbed the other man, seeing as he received a leery squint after the short man jumped and rose his elbows to his ears as if expecting to having to defend himself.

"Maxwell. What is it? Is something wrong?" He asked, keeping his manners civil nonetheless, a real gentleman as always. Sometimes Maxwell got annoyed of his behavior, annoyed how he was acting like a better man. Whom Wilson actually was, but Maxwell didn't like that it reminded him of the fact that he himself was not even half as good as Wilson.

"Yes. Do you need more salve? Or honey poultice, I found some inside Chester." Maxwell didn't waste time pretending like he wasn't there to take care of Wilson like the night before, whether the other liked it or not. The later option seemed more likely if Wilson's shocked wide eyes were anything to go by.

"Wh- N-no no, you don't have to. Really, I'm okay!" The scientist announced with distraught smile before he quickly disappeared under the fur roll and hurled it over his head.

"Going to sleep I see. Others will get suspicious if I have to be here for longer than what qualifies as a decent amount of time for a short conversation" Maxwell said with a smallest hint of mockery in his voice. He knelt next to the Wilson-shaped lump under the fur and lifted an eyebrow "We do not need to fight over this again, I hope. Let me at least take a look."

The fur roll shifted but said nothing.

Maxwell could've easily just rip the furblanket off of the other man, if he would've had any strenght right now to deal with the angry scientist afterwards. He decided to try to keep himself calm to get this done sooner and hopefully without any fighting this time. He didn't fancy the idea of another kick to his lungs.

"I don't like to repeat myself, but do I really need to tell you how likely your untimely death will be if you can't walk, let alone run, or if you get infected or-"

He cut himself off when Wilson's hair emerged under the roll and the man looked him over his shoulder, laying on his side. For a second or two Wilson let his eyes observe the taller man from head to toe, until he sighed in defeat.

"Fine," he breathed heavily, moving the roll out of the way and starting to unbutton his trousers. It looked cumbersome, but Maxwell didn't interfere. If _he_ was in Wilson's shoes, he wouldn't have let anyone even offer to help him, it would've been too much for his pride to handle. So he waited, patiently, and eventually Wilson had undressed himself and allowed Maxwell to lift his leg and examine him.

Maxwell knew that healing salve was effective, but he was still relieved to see that the skin on Wilson's rear had already started to heal and the tears were closing up. It was still probably very painful though. Maxwell decided that salve would likely be better than honey poultice in this case, no need to waste it, so he started to work with that after he finished his examinations.

"Why are you doing this?" Wilson suddenly asked, not turning to look at Maxwell. The older man was a little taken aback by the question. Didn't they go over this whole thing already?

"Well, I'm sorry Higgsbury, I was under the impression that you didn't want anyone to know, and unless you suddenly can now see your ass without a mirror I think I-"

"No, not that. Why do you _want_ to help? You aren't very caring or nurturing type from what I remember."

This time Wilson peeked over his shoulder, expression as stern and mistrustful as ever. There was venom dripping from his words. Maxwell took a moment to think about his answer, only briefly letting his mind flash back to all the hardships he had put Wilson through. He almost wanted to say that he was sorry. To apologize and tell him that he was remorseful and wanted to make up for what he had done. But he couldn't. Where would that leave him, looking all pathetic and weak, bringing down the coulisse of the confidence and greatness that he had built? That would leave him defenseless, and that was the one thing he couldn't let them see in him, not if he wanted to survive. 

"Well, I suppose I just prefer you alive, Mr. Higgsbury" he faked a demeaning smile he had perfected over the years and Wilson sneered and turned away.

"And I thought you were at least trying to be a good man for once" he mumbled bitterly, and Maxwell knew he heard a disappointment in his voice. Why was Wilson so determined to believe there was something good in him, even after he was reminded of the truth time after time after time? How many times did he need to get shocked and furious by the fact that Maxwell was not a good person? Idiot.

Maxwell finished his business and tossed the fur roll over Wilson, completely covering him with it, and he heard Wilson yelp in surprise. Maxwell left the healing items nearby the fur bed and didn't turn to face the other, seeing himself out without a word. He was tired and he wanted to concentrate to something less exhausting than other people, so he pulled his book out and sat by the fire to read.

\---

Maxwell soon took notice that his plans on keeping an eye on Wilson was not going to be hard at all. Quite the opposite actually. Wilson seemed to 'accidentally' end up in the same places as he did over the course of the day. Everywhere Maxwell was, Wilson just so happened to be passing by and then loitered around him like a puppy, doing his own chores but heaven's help him if Maxwell walked far enough to lose the sight of Wilson, the short man practically stormed over and then kept acting like he just happened to end up there by accident again.

It's not like Wilson had any good excuses either. He was always gathering berries or hunting something or just decided that this place was perfect for cutting wood, even if Maxwell's shadows had already cut the place empty, or there was hardly any berry bushes around, or absolutely no tracks to be followed. And Wilson was always following his sudden arrival with some half-hearted complaint of why they were stuck doing chores together now, _oh woe is he_ , like he would've actually despised it with all of his heart. Maybe it was partly true, but for someone who suddenly felt like glued to his side, it didn't really convince Maxwell in the slightest.

Maxwell also noticed that when they all gathered to share the chores in the mornings, Wilson often tried to get up with a reason why he and Maxwell should go together. Wilson would spend precious time convincing the others why it was a good idea until he got his way. They would pair up so he could 'make sure Maxwell did what he was supposed to', or 'it was a two-man job', or something as easily see-through as that. If they didn't have to defend themselves against any bigger beasts or mobs, there really was no need to stuck so closely together.

They spend the days mainly chopping down some trees, gathering the goods and planting the pine cones back to grow more precious wood for them. Wilson worked slowly. Probably a bad idea to volunteer to such a heavy-duty work when you could barely walk to keep up with the others, but Maxwell had a hunch that the bigger problem was how Wilson kept zoning out, getting lost in his own thoughts and flinching at sudden noises and movements around them.

It was very disturbing. Maxwell was used to his company of course, they had needed each other in the past and had to either learn to work together or die as a consequence, but it had always been evident that it was only out of the absolute necessity. Wilson had always been very vocal about the fact that he didn't wish to spend time with Maxwell if he didn't have to.

But they worked together if they needed, and Wilson would always put aside his spite to get things done. But now it seemed that he didn't really get much anything done. Maxwell didn't like the manual labor. He avoided it like a plague, but even compared to him Wilson had started to slack off. The short man mostly just followed Maxwell, then half-assed his work, standing around like he needed to keep watch. And almost immediately when the dusk fell, he started shifting nervously and make comments about rain or hounds or something else that served as a good enough reason to head back early. Maxwell didn't really pay any mind, he let all that go in from one ear and out of the other, he didn't care much for the excuses.

And when they eventually got back to the camp and everything necessary was taken care of, Wilson wouldn't just go to sleep. Oh no, he lingered way too long over the fireplace when Maxwell sat there reading Codex umbra, even when the man was obviously exhausted. Maxwell couldn't help but exchange some looks with Wickerbottom when Wilson's head started nodding while he stubbornly kept throwing small twigs to the fire or stinging his finger with the needle while sewing to keep himself occupied.

Usually the old librarian and the magician were the only ones around after the dark, and even if someone else stayed up late, no-one else suffered from insomnia or after-effects of being the nightmare King, so at least they went to sleep at some reasonable time of the night.

But Wilson really tried to draw out his luck with staying awake, and eventually, much too close to the sunrise, the scientist announced his good nights and disappeared into his tent, wobbling as he went. Maxwell rather liked the peace and quiet of the nights, and he didn't wish to spend them baby-sitting the short man, but he couldn't just shoo Wilson away either, not without feeling guilty.

This behavior, of course, did not go unnoticed by the others - well, not all of them. Wickerbottom wasn't an idiot, thank god because Maxwell sometimes felt like he was the only one, and Wendy was surprisingly observant little girl.

Amongst all the hustle and bustle of the camp it was easy to miss some small changes in people in this ever changing world that required most of their attention, but Wickerbottom was looking at Wilson a little too long sometimes, like she suspected that something was up, but for whatever reason chose to keep her mouth shut.

And Wendy on her behalf had started to give Maxwell some very unnerving, knowing gazes. Maybe it was because of their irrelevant but still existing family bond, but the little girl seemed to have decided that what ever was going on with Wilson, Maxwell had to do something about it.

And on top of that, because of Wolfgang's never-satisfied stomach, he had sadly noted that there wasn't as much food as there should've been (because apparently certain someone couldn't pick two damn berry bushes without losing his concentration nowadays). But no accusations followed, thankfully, and everyone just agreed to work harder to get what they needed.

Even when that was obviously becoming a problem, Wilson seemed to just shrug it off and keep up his annoying habit of encouraging everyone to keep going, acting as if everything was perfectly fine and giving them hope of the better tomorrow that was never going to come.

\---

Maxwell furrowed his brows and tapped the cover of his book with his finger. He really hated this. All of this. The tall man tossed a log into the firepit, and heard Willow making a satisfied hum while she crept closer to the flames. There wasn't many of them awake this time, only the firestarter, the old librarian, Wilson and himself. He let his eyes observe the scene until they stopped at the scientist, who sat on the ground, repairing winter gear with steady hands. Despite the fact that his hands worked slowly and heedfully, his head was bobbing sleepily. Maxwell felt a sigh escape his lips as he tucked the codex back into his suit and stood up.

"You're heading to bed early" Willow stated, raising an eyebrow, perhaps suspecting that he was up to something. Maxwell only glowered at her and walked into his tent. He didn't need to explain himself, even though he hardly ever slept anymore, he could still rest sometimes for heaven's sake. And, not that he would tell them, it was also a test (to amuse himself, he assured his mind). 

After a short while he could hear a very familiar voice announce that he, too, was heading to bed. Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose, having to accept the truth that he had tried to push aside pretty hard. Ok, so, Wilson clearly sought out his company, or at least he avoided being without it. And even though Maxwell _knew_ the reason why the short man felt sudden need to stick around him, he could not find the reason for _why_ in the name of anything intelligent in this planet that idiot thought that Maxwell of all people was worthy of his misguided sudden dependency. He wanted to be worthy of it, he did. But in his heart he knew that he only had himself to rely on, and to keep himself safe meant that he would've left even Wilson behind in an instant if it threatened his own life. That's it. He didn't care. He never had.

Not even when he found himself getting up after everyone else had gone to sleep, walking over Wilson's tent to check if he was sleeping well, for once.


	3. The shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many kind of shadows in Constant.  
> Wilson wonders about Maxwell and tries to will away his anxiety.

"It's getting late. Haven't you picked enough boulders for today?"

Maxwell turned to only glance at him before returning his attention to his shadows breaking rocks and gathering the resources.

"I would rather not face Mrs. Wickerbottom in case I haven't." was the short answer. Wilson furrowed his eyebrows. Maxwell was always slacking off and being lazy, except when he actually could afford to do so. It was infuriating, really. Wilson could've sworn he was doing it just to get on his nerves.

"Can't you leave your shadows to work without you? I've seen you using them many times before, you don't actually need to be so close to them, do you?" Wilson scratched his bristle "You don't even do anything, you just stand and watch. It's not like you have to keep an eye on them."

"My, aren't you being ever so observant."

Wilson rolled his eyes. He tapped his foot on the ground and gave a quick glance to their surroundings. The rockylands weren't that far from the camp, so it wasn't like they were in actual hurry to get back yet. But Wilson felt himself grow more restless and uneasy every moment it got closer to the sunset, and he didn't want to take any chances. He didn't like being out after dark, it made him feel more alone, more vulnerable. The darkness always brought an extra heavy burden of emotions and fears on his mind, and he wanted to be in the camp when that happened, safely surrounded by his friends.

"... But in theory, you _could_ leave them behind?"

Maxwell sighed, irritated.

"Yes, I suppose I am able to leave them behind if I have to. I can trust that they would carry on their assignments and then either return to me or die."

"Do you see what they're doing? When you're not looking at them, I mean. They are your shadows, are they connected to you in some way? Do you sense the things they do?"

Maxwell finally turned to him, frowning.

"What is this about?"

Wilson had momentarily forgotten his anxiety, now actually letting his curiosity get hold of himself. He was walking next to the shadows and hovering his hand over them, not actually touching the dark essence, merely playing with the idea. The shadows had always interested him, but he rarely got to see them up close, let alone had time to just observe and examine them. _God he wanted to run some experiments with them._

"I mean, do you know when they get hurt? Do you see through their eyes - oh I guess they don't really have actual eyes, do they - or do you just sense where they are, is it some kind of intuition? Do they feel pain? Does it reflect on you in someway or-"

"Higgsbury. This isn't really your business so kindly keep your nose out of it."

Wilson didn't mind Maxwell's protest or that his voice was getting dangerously low and growling. He stopped in front of one of the shadows and cocked his head, his finger on his chin.

"I wonder..."

He raised his hand and carefully placed it on the shadow's chest. It didn't go through, but the place he was touching was trembling under his fingers, like the shadow tried to escape his touch without breaking the form. It shifted and swelled softly, almost like the shadow itself was unsure what to do with the fact that it was being touched without any sort of direct orders to tell it what to do.

"Interesting! They are immaterial, yet they can touch things, and it seems they can be touched too with enough concentration! I've always wondered if that would work! Heh, I actually once saw Willow walk right through one, she didn't pay any atten-"

His hand was snatched away and he was turned around, away from the shadow. Maxwell twisted his wrist, his jaw tightened in distorted gurn.

"What did I say?" he hissed, leaning closer which made Wilson in turn try to sink into himself (tooclosetooclosetooclose). "Keep your nose out of my business. That includes my shadows, you pertinacious fool."

Wilson tried his best no to show any fear and tried to yank his hand free, which Maxwell allowed, for his relief.

"Okay fine! You don't need to be so defensive about it!"

The older man just sneered and walked away, leaving him stand alone in the rockylands with the shadows who kept on doing their tasks. Wilson rubbed his arm. Maxwell could be a real pain in his side sometimes (well, most of the times). What was even his damage? It's not like Wilson would try to use the shadows against him or something, he wasn't like that!

He wrapped his arms over his chest, glaring the magician's receding back. But then again, maybe the mistrust was a two-way road. Wilson let an inaudible sigh escape his mouth. He _had_ tried to kill Maxwell couple of times, but that was before they made the truce. And he never even thought about hurting the older man after that, not if he wasn't provoked. Was it really so big of a challenge to just, _not_ be a dick for once?

After giving the shadows one last glance, he followed Maxwell's trail back towards the camp.

\---

The rest of the night went on without any incidents. No accidents or fights, and even Maxwell seemed to be less grumpy now that Wilson had left him be for a while, but the young man still kept him on his eyesight. He knew he was safe with others around and he didn't really need Maxwell, but still, he felt less anxious when he could see the other one nearby.

Maybe it was because Maxwell knew what happened, or that he had kept his promise and didn't tell anyone about it, but Wilson felt strangely more secure when he was close to the man. Like if anything was to happen - despite that he told himself all the time that nothing was going to happen - he felt slightly braver when he was with someone who had already helped him in the situation that he could not have escaped without said help.

Maxwell didn't seem to really try to confront him about it, but he never tried to chase Wilson away either. Somewhere underneath their snarky comments and backhanded compliments he wanted to believe that Maxwell could actually... maybe care? A tiniest, smallest, slightest bit?

Wilson found himself shaking his head. It was always hard to tell with Maxwell. He was like a freaking matryoshka doll. Every time Wilson thought he had a grasp of what was inside that mind, he realized that there was just layers and layers of secrets and hidden intentions and masks and shadows. And he didn't want to believe they were all malevolent intents, but he could just never be certain about it.

And maybe that was one reason, too, why he was so strangely fascinated by that man, from the very start, from the voice in the radio. He loved solving problems and finding new information and knowledge that came with every new piece he managed to put together, and there was something rewarding about finally getting all the little parts to work together and seeing that all the insignificant little pieces of junk could make something useful and functional when they were used correctly.

Wilson had to laugh at himself as he stole a quick glance of Maxwell sitting on the log, reading his book again. Maxwell was not some complicated science project that he could just put together, he was a human being.

...But then again, was he? That, too, was up to debate, and Maxwell hadn't offered any clues of his humanity that might or might not exist anymore.

Wilson's brain started to hurt and he brought his fingers up to rub his head. He needed something to do, he hated being idle and unoccupied. That's when he started to think, and he couldn't just stop, oh no. He always ended up overthinking stuff and getting more frustrated and running in circles in his own head up until he'd either tire himself out or find something else to put his mind into.

And worst part about not doing anything was that the demons came when he let himself dwell on the silence for too long. The demons, the nasty thoughts, the shadows, when he was tired and let his mind wander. The little flashes of fear he tried to avoid, the ones that could tear him apart, the foul whispers and memories he tried to bury away.

And he would do anything to avoid that silence that brought the thoughts, so despite being already tired he hoisted himself up from his current spot and started to go through the chests. There was always something to fill or fix or repair, and if nothing else, he could just organize the chests better. That should give him something to do before he would pass out. Because he really didn't like the thought of laying on his fur roll and having to wait for the sleep and all he could do to waste his time was _thinking_ , which was the one thing he didn't want to do all alone in the dark tent.

He would survive this, he just had to try harder. He was not broken and he was not weak, he was a grown man for crying out loud and he wouldn't let this one bad thing destroy him, and he realized that he had let his mind wander again. Crap.

_Well then_ , he mentally slapped himself, concentrate on the chests! That's your task. The chests. Good. Work.

Wilson busied himself with his current choice of safety net until he could hardly keep his eyes open, and when Maxwell retreated to his tent, Wilson followed soon after, only barely remembering that he was supposed to go sleep in his own tent, and the man made a sudden awkward turn to hide inside his tent. What was he even doing, following Maxwell around so closely? He wasn't one of his shadows.


	4. Itsy pitsy spider Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson feels only worse, and hopes to get a small break. But of course not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Webber is baby, bless Webber. Also, god fuck me how do you write action scenes, because I have no idea what I was doing.
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter has some blood in it.

Wilson felt tired, too tired to do any real work. The shadows had only grown in his field of vision, galloping around before disappearing again, even though he tried his best to sleep and had cooked some green mushrooms for himself on daily basis, it didn't seem to help much. He had to admit to himself, if only to himself, that he was not doing so well.

Despite the fact that he had already healed and didn't hurt anymore, Wilson felt uncomfortable in his own body. He felt disgusting when he touched himself, not necessarily even in a sexual way, it could've been just rubbing his neck or placing his hand over his stomach, it felt so foul and shameful all the same. It was filthy and icky and wrong.

And he was tired, so god damn _tired_ and any amount of sleep didn't help, he felt just as tired when he woke up as when he went to sleep. But, he sighed, he just had to try his best to keep going, even when he had to live with this new feeling in his skin and these thoughts in his mind. He could do it.

"Look mister Wilson, look what we made!"

A rough, chirping voice, still very childish, reached his ears and he felt something light placed on his head. He touched it, gave a short, tired laugh as the soft petals tangled in his hair.

"Thank you Webber. It's nice" he smiled at the spider boy who grinned their monstrous teeth at him, easily excited by the praise "Really!? We're gonna make one for mister Maxwell and miss Wigfrid too!"

"I prömise tö wear it tönight. I might need my battle helmet för a fight very söön!" The redhead announced.

Maxwell just sneered.

Wilson watched the fuzzy child running to pick more flowers. He was glad that he could take a small break from actual work today. He was lucky that they needed some silk, which was obviously Webber's territory, but as all of them had agreed, they couldn't just let a child go alone, no matter how brave and skilled, and so Wilson was set to go with them, to keep an eye out for danger and make sure the spider boy was safe. Webber was, after all, only a little kid.

And, of course, Wilson had somehow managed to convince that Maxwell should go too. He was running out of excuses and fast, but at this point he honestly feared that if things went wrong, he was not gonna be of any help with his mind slowly falling apart. But he couldn't just tell the others that. They would start pestering him, asking why he didn't do something about it sooner, and he would have to explain that he had _tried_ , but as long as he felt like this, as long as he could feel something uninvited nesting inside him, remember something inhuman entering him, sensing something crawling in his flesh and skin, he couldn't be of any help to anyone.

_Useless_ , he blamed himself and arranged the garland in his head better when the three of them walked deeper into the forest. He watched Webber running ahead of them, picking flowers in his claws and humming happily. Such a care-free boy. How could anyone stay as innocent and kind as Webber in this horrible place?

"Out of all of you, I regret bringing him here the most." Maxwell suddenly confessed in low voice, seemingly more to himself than to them, gaining a surprised look from both Wilson and Wigfrid, although the tall man didn't turn to look either of them. Wigfrid obviously didn't expect to hear a sudden, out of place almost-apology, and Wilson had to once again weight how possible it was that Maxwell was somehow reading his mind.

"They dön't seem tö carry a grudge, sö I wouldn't wörry töö much." Wigfrid stated, pointing her spear into Maxwell's throat in a way that almost could've been joke if the topic wouldn't have been about bringing a child into a place as horrible as Constant.

Maxwell gave her a half-smile.

"You do, though?"

The spear was swiped away from his neck, instead it swung around and Maxwell was harshly hit with it's blunt end to his chest.

"Yöu bet I dö, yöu heartless mönster!" Wigfrid told him, and the two quieted down and watched Webber gleefully run about the forest. Maxwell was rubbing his chest, but he didn't seem all that annoyed, and Wigfrid didn't look like she meant any real harm either. Wilson was secretly happy about that, he really wasn't in a mood of getting someone off of Maxwell's throat, even if he deserved it.

It was a pure coincidence that they run into Wigfrid while the viking lady was out hunting. Apparently she had already killed a few beefalo, proudly presenting the amount of fur and meat she carried in her bag when they crossed paths. And Webber of course asked her to join them, and since it was near impossible to say no to the kid when they smiled as brightly as the sun and stared you down with all of their eyes shimmering, Wigfrid had told them that she could certainly assist them with getting some silk. Though, Wilson had a hunch that she just wanted to battle some more, like the unbelievable killing-machine she was.

So now that Wigfrid and Maxwell were here, Wilson felt only a tad bit relief that at least someone was there to help if something went wrong.

The trees started thickening around them, Webber appeared from somewhere between the branches and run to Maxwell, proudly offering him the garland they made. Maxwell stared him down in disgust, completely seeming to disregard what he said just a moments ago.

"For you, mister Maxwell" Webber explained and shove the garland even closer, smiling, waiting the man to take his present.

Eventually Maxwell grunted, snapped the flowery crown from Webber's claws and stuffed it in his pocket, rather ungratefully. Wilson frowned. What was the harm in entertaining a little kid? The little kid that Maxwell had brought here ( _tricked them_ , Webber had once told him) in the first place! But luckily Webber didn't seem to mind, they clapped their hands together and squealed, pleased that the garland was accepted at all.

"We make one for miss Wigfrid, too! Then we all can look like twins, like miss Wendy and Abigail!"

And with those words they were off again, gathering more flowers and whatnot. Wilson smiled, biting down his urge to correct them that they would in actuality be quadruplets instead of twins. Being around Webber was always such a joy. It was almost enough to distract him from the shadows that wavered every now and then in his eyesight. Things never seemed so bad when the bubbly and kind-hearted spider child was around.

Following in the footprints of the arachnid boy, they came to the clearing, the forest seemed to loom dark over them despite the sun that shone above. It was eerily quiet, no birds chirping, no rabbits, no pigs, nothing made a sound. It was in the moments like these that the disaster usually decided to strike, probably because it could easily catch everyone's attention and put on a good show with it's dramatic entrance.

Wilson was so unnerved by the dead silence that he hadn't noticed the others had stopped walking and bumped straight into Maxwell's back and fell on the ground on his rear. The man turned to glance at him over his shoulder, a deep scowl in his face, and turned away again. Great, so now even Maxwell looked down on him. At least Wigfrid had some manners, and the young woman offered him her hand, pulling him up rather easily. Just as Wilson was about to complain that _someone_ could've at least warned him, the warrior rose her index finger on her mouth as made a soundless 'shhh' on her lips while she tiptoed away, somewhere among the branches.

Wilson furrowed, rising his eyes on Maxwell. The magician didn't move a muscle, standing still as a stone, staring at something that lay just behind the pinetrees out of Wilson's vision. He gulped, hearing his heartbeat in his ears as he cautiously peered behind the thick branches.

A Varg.

A huge varg, sleeping on the clearing, maybe seven to ten hounds around it, sleeping as well.

Damn, why did he have to think about disasters and dramatic entrances.

But it was not the varg that chilled him from the skin to the bones, it was the fact that at some point Webber had run a little too close in their excitement, and had noticed the beast too late.

The poor kid had frozen in fear, staring at the monster, not daring to make a sound in fear of waking it up. If it woke, Webber was too close. A Way too close. If the giant canine didn't get the spider child first, the hounds surely would.

"Maybe someone tracked it down and didn't have what it takes" Maxwell commented barely louder than a whisper. Wilson nodded, though the man couldn't see it from behind his back. If someone had been tracking down the thing and couldn't face it, it was reasonable to assume that as soon as the varg was spotted, the unlucky hunter left it where it was to be someone else's problem. And it seemed that now, it was their problem.

"Webber!" Wilson hissed, trying to get their attention "Webber, get here, quickly."

The arachnid creature shook and made a small whimper. One of the dogs stirred it's ear, letting out a low growl. Wilson was almost holding his breath. He had to get Webber away, now, fast, before something really bad happened.

"FÖR VALHALLA!"

Wilson's heart skipped a beat and he turned to see Wigfrid lunging straight at the hounds, raising her spear to attack. She had sneaked behind the pack of hounds, apparently intending to catch them by surprise (Really, they were sleeping, they would've been surprised either way!), and Wilson realized that from her angle, she didn't see Webber's small black body so close to the black sleeping dogs.

"Wigfrid, _NO!_ " He yelled, stretching his hand out as if that would somehow undo her attack.

The red eyes struck open, and Webber let out a shriek of terror as the pack of beasts all woke up, their alpha letting out a bloodcurdling howl.

Many things happened at the same time, in a short chaotic moment. Wigfrid stopped on Wilson's scream and the varg swung at her, sending the warrior flying against the tree trunk. Webber fell on their knees and cried. Wilson sprinted to protect Webber. The hounds dashed after all of them. Maxwell pulled his book forth.

Wilson didn't know if it was idiocy or courage that moved his legs, but he soon realized he was standing between Webber and the black mass full of fangs, claws and spit as the hounds seeked to attack anything and everything that moved. He struck one down, stabbing his spear right through it's mouth, while another one sunk it's canines on his leg, getting a pain filled scream out of the scientist. He blocked another one with the handle of the spear, fighting to push it away, desperately trying to get Webber away from the fight.

He could hear Wigfrid let out a scream, not sure if it was of pain or aggression, and scoped the scene, fearful to see what happened. If Wigfrid was out, they were all out. His own sanity was hanging by a thread, Maxwell would take one hit and be done for, and Webber was in shock.

A faint and quick relief dashed through his body when he saw one of the hounds raising above the fighting pack, impaled by the battlespear, and he dared to concentrate on his own fight again.

"Webber, leave! Go, gogogogo, _now!_ " He snapped at the kid, who shook like a leave in the wind and with eyes widened in panic he rushed further from the bloodied ground. Wilson struck down the hound that left after the spider child, and had to turn to block another, still feeling his leg being torn to shreds. Suddenly, the pressure of the teeth in his flesh lightened, and with a whine he was let go. He turned to see a shadow clone pulling his sword from the hound, splashing blood everywhere.

As soon as he released his eyes from the clone, his face was met with a strike of huge paw that send him tumbling down on the ground. A swirling sensation made him sick, the world around was spinning, his ears rang and for a moment, maybe just for a second, he laid there, not quite sure what was going on or why it felt like someone was hitting his head with a hammer. It took a while to force himself to leaven his cheek from the ground, everything swinging from side to side like he was sitting on a boat.

Wilson coughed, pushing himself off the ground, not yet able to stand. He couldn't hear a thing, only a faintest, most irritating thin ringing sound, like a static echoing through his head. He could recognise a huge creature in the middle of many smaller ones, all a big blur of shades of grey and black and brown. He could see one of the colors racing towards him. What was he doing, again?

He could see the pink slimy fabric, framed with the white sharp stones merely a meter away from his face. Oh, a mouth, he realized, as he could feel the hot breath that smelled like bones and blood on his face.

And then the red color spat straight into his eyes and mouth. It tasted like iron. Wilson shook his head as the sound returned with a humming vibration, but his senses were still a bit lost. The creature in front of him was frozen, blood oozing from it's throat, something sticking from it's mouth. A sword? Wilson swung his hurting head to see someone standing behind the creature.

_A disaster striking_ , he thought as the tall lanky man kicked the dead body off of his sword, _putting on a good show_ , he continued his train of thought, _making a dramatic entrance_.

"Don't just lay there like a moron, we need your help!" the disaster named Maxwell demanded, grabbing Wilson by his shirt collar and violently jerking him up from the ground. The scientist hissed, pressing his eyes close as the spinning world was finding the balance again. He opened his eyes to see that Maxwell was already back to slicing the hounds down while Wigfrid striked the varg whenever she had a chance. Wilson, despite his invasive urge to throw up, jogged closer, joining her on taking down the beast.

\---

The blood painted the ground, claw marks on grass and sand all around the clearing now. They sat in the middle of the mount of bodies, all exhausted and injured and tired. Webber had returned to the camp, apparently escorted by one of Maxwell's clones. The man pressed his face with his hand, a pained expression darkening his pale features. The shadows were taking a toll on him, Wilson knew, and he would've comforted him, had he been in any better state himself.

In silence they gathered the loot, and without the damned spider silk the party headed back to their camp, limping and full of bruises and cuts, starved and weary.

"Mister Wilson! Mister Maxwell, miss Wigfrid! We were so worried! We are sooo sooorryyy" the familiar cries of Webber caught them when they dragged themselves home, the monstrous boy jumping to hug Wilson's legs and smearing their snot and tears all over his clothes.

"Heyy, buddy... It's okay. We're fine. Don't worry about it" the man tiredly consoled him and offered an exhausted smile. All he really wanted to do was to wash himself, no, _not wash_ , he didn't wanna touch his body, scratch that. He wanted to just eat and patch up his bloodied leg and fall face first in his tent and let himself go out like a candle.

He walked past the boy, giving him one last encouraging pat on the head, and listened when Wigfrid dropped on her knees and started apologizing comprehensively to the kid while Wolfgang and Wickerbottom came to help them patch up and clean themselves from the blood.

Wilson sat down, leaned to open the icebox and started stuffing his face with meatballs. He saw Maxwell standing on the edge of the camp, his chest rising up and down in heavy movements like he was in pain, not bothering to join the others. Wilson wanted to think he understood, he wasn't in the mood to socialize either. Not after that day, that was supposed to give him a little break, but instead only gave him so much more pain and trouble.

He couldn't hear from the distance away, but Maxwell said something that made Webber bawl his eyes out even more, and momentarily Wilson felt himself get angry and was ready to go yell at the other to leave the poor kid alone, but his anger was quickly brushed away by his surprise when Maxwell dug the now very abused-looking garland out of his pocket and tossed it to Wigfrid. The woman theatrically snatched it and smacked it on top of her helmet, giving Webber the biggest grin.

The stray thought crossed through Wilson's mind, that maybe Maxwell and Wigfrid were even kinda getting along with each other because they were both so dramatic and insufferably impulsive personalities. A real show people, honestly.

Webber kept crying, and now Wilson could see that it wasn't for any particular reason, probably just anxiety and worry unraveling after the day. Maybe Maxwell hadn't said anything mean after all.

"See?" Wigfrid grinned her big smile for both Maxwell and Webber "I töld yöu I wöuld wear it tönight!"

Webber laughed shyly, wiping a tear away, and Maxwell gave a small smirk before walking away.


	5. Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson tries a new way of coping, and Maxwell is there to give him a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not good at writing this kinda stuff aaaa sos help.
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter is basically porn with some plot added into it. You have been warned.

After he had realized he could actually touch the shadows, Wilson had been playing with the idea a lot. Not only was he interested about them in general for scientific reasons, but he was almost certain that they were just mindless puppets and didn't hold any direct contact with Maxwell, besides just knowing what they were created for and thus it wouldn't probably cause Maxwell any harm if something was done to the shadows, right? Maxwell hadn't exactly shown any major signs of physical pain when one of the shadows got killed or disappeared, so it was safe to assume that he didn't sense the feelings of the shadows himself.

So when Maxwell was, for once, nowhere to be seen, and Wilson found himself standing around with a single shadow that was picking berries, he couldn't let the opportunity to slip by. Carefully, feeling a little silly, he put his hand on the shadow to stop it from gathering. The shadow indeed stopped, now just standing there, one knee on the ground and hands frozen in place midway the picking process, probably not knowing what to do with itself now. If it had any means to actually know what it was doing anyway, which was very unlikely.

Wilson exhaled deeply, before he placed his hand on the pitch black, see-through cheek, and carefully brought his lips on the place where the shadow had two small lumps that vaguely resembled the lips. Wilson tried not to think about it. He closed his eyes and was just about to put his other hand on the shadow too, when he heard the clearing of the throat behind him.

"May I ask what the hell are you doing?"

Wilson jumped backwards and stared Maxwell with wide eyes, horrified that he got caught. Maxwell didn't look angry though, but appeared very unimpressed and annoyed. The shorter man felt the blood rush to his cheeks and he suddenly found the ground very interesting and decided to stare at it with all of his will.

"Uh-I. I was... just..." His voice got stuck in his throat. Oh stars, how could he even begin to explain this? He tried to find a comfortable position to stand in, but everything felt just awkward, no matter how he squirmed under Maxwell's steel stare.

"Well?"

Maxwell sounded impatient. He needed to come up with something and quick.

"It was for science. Yes! For science, I wanted to see what would happen... if..." His voice trailed off and he scratched his arm tensely.

"And here I thought that I told you to keep your nose out of my business." Maxwell started to walk closer, and Wilson would've run if he wasn't frozen in place form sheer embarrassment "I suppose I need to clarify that it concerns your lips, too."

"Oh-okay look, it wasn't- I didn't..."

Maxwell stopped in front of him and raised his eyebrow. Wilson swallowed, then let out a sigh and let his shoulders drop.

"Look. It's about that... that thing that happened to me. You know which thing I mean, right?" He didn't want to think about it, but if it prevented Maxwell from possibly butchering him right now, he had to. Maxwell didn't really appear to like science so probably any excuse would work better, but all the other excuses Wilson could come up from the spot only made him look worse.

"Ok, don't make fun of me right now." Wilson took in a deep breath, bracing himself, then slowly let it out and pinched the bridge of his nose "I've been feeling, I don't know, wrong? I can't stop thinking about what happened, I've tried, believe me, I've tried really hard, but it's just always lingering somewhere in my mind, and it makes me feel filthy."

He mustered the courage to glance up at Maxwell. The man was just looking at him, arms in his pockets and head slightly tilted. Wilson thought he got the message that Maxwell was listening, so he continued, warily.

"I just thought that maybe, maybe if I put a bandage over it, it would eventually get better. If I felt something else, someone else, something more human, it would wash away the feeling that I am, I am ruined in some way, and... I, I, I want to look at myself and not feel disgusted by what I am, am but... b-but..." Wilson tried to stop the tears and swallowed down the knot in his throat, but the feelings that he tried to pretend didn't exist, suddenly all washed over him and he felt his legs starting to tremble a bit.

"...You do realize that my shadow is not exactly human." was all that Maxwell offered as an answer.

"Of course I know that!" Wilson snapped "But it's not like I can exactly just march around and ask people to kiss me! They'd think I'm a total jerk! Or, or they would get the wrong idea, and I don't want that!"

After Maxwell got no more unhelpful comments for him, Wilson brushed his hair and leaned on the closest tree behind him, shaky exhale escaping between his teeth.

"I figured that... it's just a shadow, so it wouldn't really hurt anyone, but it's also part of you so it would be like kissing a real person. But..." he sighed and chuckled, rising his palm to wipe the wet corner of his eye, feeling like an idiot "It's not. It's not like that, at all. It only felt cold and lifeless."

"Do you think it would really help if you could, as you say, 'put a bandage over it'?"

Maxwell didn't look at Wilson, instead gazing somewhere in the sky. Wilson shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe it would? But I... I need to get this feeling out me somehow. I don't think I can handle it much longer. Or I can, but it's... it's getting really hard and I'm scared that-"

"Do you want to try it with me?"

Wilson almost fell to the ground. He turned to look at Maxwell, not sure if he had heard the man right. Maxwell lowered his eyes back to Wilson, looking a little bit unsure himself.

"If you think it's going to help you and you can't do it with anyone else, you can do it with me then."

Wilson felt the red in his cheeks deepen and he furrowed his brows.

"Why?"

"Because. You have been like a walking corpse lately and I would prefer if you didn't get yourself killed because you can't get out of your own head. And I can't stand to see you that way, so, that's why."

The shorter man let his eyes linger on Maxwell a little longer, trying to pierce his way inside his head to see through his lies and find his hidden motives or evil plans. But once again he had to surprise himself by the fact that no matter how untrustworthy Maxwell had been in the past, he seemed kind of sincere for once.

"Okay. But don't you dare to try anything, because I can and _will_ end you if you do." He warned and got a dirty look in exchange. If looks could kill, and luckily they didn't, Maxwell would murder the whole world in days.

After the necessary death threats had been exchanged and they both actually just stood there in front of one another, Wilson felt the different kind of burn inside. He was embarrassed and anxious, sure, but there was something else, too. He just didn't know what it was. Or if he did, he chose to ignore it.

"Okay, can you, uh, close your eyes?"

Maxwell let out an irritated (or maybe embarrassed) sigh and closed his eyelids, which Wilson noticed, were much darker than he had ever realized. He lowered his eyes to Maxwell's lips. They were much fuller than his own, and wider, and they also seemed surprisingly soft. Wilson felt the heat in his cheeks spread to his neck and ears, and he took a step closer, much closer than he thought he could be allowed to. He just stood there for a second, slowly bringing his hands to Maxwell's cheekbones. God his bones felt sharp. Did he ever eat anything?

Maxwell twitched under the sudden touch and Wilson couldn't help but smile a little. The other man always slept one eye open, if he even slept at all, never letting his guard down. Yet now he was just standing there his eyes closed, without any weapons, not knowing whether Wilson would hurt him when he had this great opportunity laid before him. But he wouldn't, he quickly corrected himself, he wasn't like that. He would never attack a defenseless man, no matter how much he hated or despised them.

Slowly he pulled Maxwell's face lower while also pushing himself as high as his short legs let him. He could feel the older man's breath on his skin. He felt his own heart beat louder than he knew it could, and he was sure he could faintly hear someone else's heartbeat as well. 

Softly, carefully, he placed his lips on Maxwell's own. They tasted like smoke. His lips were warm and Wilson felt the rush run through his spine. He closed his eyes and brought his hand over Maxwell's thin, dark hair. It felt slippery but not dirty. Weird. It was small little details that caught his attention even in situations like this. But he had never gotten an opportunity to examine these details, and now he felt like he needed to, before it would be taken away from him again.

He hadn't noticed when he had started to push himself closer, to part Maxwell's lips to let his own travel further. He hadn't expected himself to actually enjoy the taste. But he did. He felt needy and clingy and he couldn't believe how he never realized how soft Maxwell was, how his breath was warm and smelled like, roses almost, how his hands felt eager when they gripped him tightly-

Wilson snapped out of his trance-like state. When had Maxwell taken him by his waist? He was pulled so close that their clothes were creasing together and he could feel Maxwell's body underneath his shirt and his pants and-

"N-no, nonononono" Wilson gasped and pushed Maxwell away. He was surprised to notice that Maxwell let go and didn't try to pull him back in. He only looked disappointed when Wilson stepped away from him.

"It didn't help?" The tall man simply asked, raising his brows. Wilson wasn't sure what he had expected. Even though he found that Maxwell's presence brought him some sort of security, he still, somewhere inside, waited the moment that Maxwell would try to hurt him in one way or another. He felt a little bit angry at himself as well. Where had his big words gone when he needed to put them in action? Getting scared wasn't going to save his ass if Maxwell actually decided to try to kill him one day.

"No, it- it did help." He realized that it had, in fact, make him feel a bit better.

"Just that, uh... You're so tall. Can we sit down, maybe?" He felt stupid, but he refused to back down just because he got a little squirmish for a second. Maxwell nodded and sat down, one of his long legs crooked so he could lean on it. Wilson sat on his knees. He actually didn't know what he wanted to do. He wanted, to some extend, continue doing what ever the hell that was, but he couldn't help the cold feeling crawling on his back. He was afraid. He could admit that to himself, yes, but he didn't know if he was more afraid that Maxwell was going to force him to do something he didn't feel like or if he was just simply nervous because up until very recently he had always thought that he hated Maxwell now. And that confused him a whole lot more than any abnormal shit this world had to offer.

Maxwell laughed. Not in a malicious way, no, it sounded nervous too.

"Should I close my eyes again, or do you just want to sit here?"

Part of Wilson really just wanted to sit here. It was nice to just hang around, pretend like things were actually fine for a while. But he couldn't let himself lull on that lie.

"Can you just..." He let out an uncertain sigh, fiddling the fabric of his vest between his fingers "Can you not do anything sudden?"

"What, you don't trust me?" Maxwell almost smirked. Wilson snapped his mouth shut, an answer in of itself. He could swear he saw something very quickly flash on Maxwell's face. It looked almost too human, a little hurt even. It was something very small and very, very well hidden almost immediately when Maxwell threw his head backwards.

"Fine. You lead me, then."

Carefully Wilson's hands found their way on Maxwell's shoulders when he leaned to push their lips back together. He found that smoky taste again, and he seized it in his mouth, feeling his pulse getting higher. He wrapped his whole arms around the other man's shoulders when he hungrily shove his mouth against his, getting lost on the wetness and hot breaths that huffed out in between their kisses.

He felt Maxwell's fingers hover over his neck before he placed them there, softly caressing his spine up and down and cupping the back of his head with his other hand, his long finger's tangled his hair and scalp playfully, and it almost tickled. Wilson had to break away from the kiss just long enough to breath in before he practically smashed his lips back again.

He lowered his own hands, studying Maxwell's back with his fingertips. He was so lanky and bony and skinny. How was he not dead yet? He felt more human than Wilson had expected. He was almost warm, his skin felt soft and delicate, his hair had texture and he smelled like roses and smoke and, right now, sweat and heat. Where had all his humanity disappeared when he was on the throne? Wilson was sure that this Maxwell couldn't be the same man. 

He let his other hand find it's way on Maxwell's chest, burrowing his way under his suit jacket and shirt to feel his heartbeat. It was loud. It banged against his hand, and for a fleeting moment that was too fast for his brain to process properly, he wondered if it was so loud and clear because it just really wanted to be heard by someone. Maxwell's fingers dived in to find his hand, gently pulling it away.

Wilson didn't let that distract him, though. He hadn't felt like this in, well, who knows how long, and he really wanted to just be swallowed by this sensation. He needed it more than he wanted to actually admit out loud. He placed his hand on Maxwell's cheek and gave him more kisses while his other hand wandered around his body. He paused for a second and pushed his forehead against Maxwell's, feeling himself getting harder by the minute.

"I need this. Just... just let me have this" He pleaded, as if Maxwell would've been the shadow King again, as if he needed to beg to get what he wanted from him. But he didn't have to, not anymore. And _damn_ , it felt good! He silently cursed his needy body inside his head while his fingers sought way into Maxwell's suitpants, grabbing his arousal. He felt Maxwell huff some hot air on his cheek, it might have been laugh or snort, but right now he didn't really mind either way. He just finally felt the disgusting feeling wash away by every touch and breath, and he didn't want to stop until it was all gone.

He sat on Maxwell's lap and pulled his dick out of his pants, slowly stroking it, the blush on his cheeks almost burning away his skin like a paper. The other man let out a moan and pulled Wilson closer to hide his face in his fluffy hair. Wilson took his hand and lead it to touch his own bulging crotch, and closed his eyes, shuddering moan escaping his mouth.

He stroked Maxwell, touches growing stronger and faster. He stopped only to unbutton his own pants. It was funny to think that a few days ago he was so scared to let Maxwell (well, anyone, really) to touch him even with his clothes on, but now when he felt like he was in control he didn't feel scared anymore. Or if he did, it was easily overcasted by his lust and need to chase away all the nasty demons and devils inside his mind and body.

Still, he felt himself trembling when he kicked his trousers away and tried to position himself over Maxwell. The soft kiss on his neck eased his mind, and Maxwell kept stroking his length, while he inserted his long, black fingers inside his mouth until they were dripping with saliva, and Wilson let him spread his cheeks to fit his fingers inside, slowly, starting with one. 

Wilson let out a deep moan and shuddered. It felt good. Embarrassingly so. He kept stroking Maxwell and planted sweaty kisses over his face while the other man was loosening him up. After a moment of too much waiting in his opinion, Maxwell pushed another finger in and earned an eager gasp from Wilson who bit his lip when the digits moved inside him, soft and long and slippery. He dug his claws into Maxwell's back and squeezed his member on his other hand, leaning to whisper in his ear.

"Just take me already."

The other man carefully pulled out, and Wilson gasped and moved both of his trembling hands on Maxwell's shoulders. The magician pet his hair, and placed his tip on Wilson's entrance, and slowly pulled him down.

Wilson could've just melted then and there. He clawed Maxwell's back while moving his hips up and down. He was so hot, his chest was banging and his arms were shaking and the small sweaty drops dripped down his neck. He just wanted Maxwell deeper and closer and he wanted to crush his body in his arms and swallow his kisses and never ever let go.

His head was spinning, he could feel his climax getting closer when he moved his hips in rhythmic phase and Maxwell's fingers sank into his flesh. He tried to bite his teeth together as to not scream too loud, although he was without a doubt making too much noise anyway. He could feel Maxwell was getting close too, and he fastened his phase, not even caring anymore how loud he would get. It was pure bliss.

When he finally released, he let out a noise that was something between a whimper and a loud gasp, and he could feel Maxwell come inside him soon after, filling him with something warm and slimy, and this time he didn't care. He sat there, feeling out every last bit of his orgasm, until he pulled himself away and sat on the lap of the other man, whole body shaking and letting himself go limp like a ragdoll. Maxwell brought his hand on his neck, leaning his own head on his shoulder, taking deep, exhausted breaths.

Then they just sat there for a while, quietly, trying to even their breaths and get their strength back.

Wilson had to swallow a couple of times to find his voice again.

"T-that was... something."

"Did it help?"

Wilson pushed his head on Maxwell's shoulder and closed his eyes. He was tired and exhausted, his body hurt and he was dirty and sweaty and he could feel the bruises forming on his knees. But it felt good. He felt good.

"Yeah" he admitted, snuggling his nose on Maxwell's neck "It did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mother I'm sorry I wrote this don't disown me.


	6. The conversation that didn't happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson tries to talk with Maxwell. Keyword being 'tries'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: A slight smut here, but nothing big.

Living in a decent-sized group had it's advantages. They weren't always in the desperate need of something and once they had it, they weren't immediately running out of something else in it's place. It was easier to fend off the monsters and stay in good health. Most of the time they had the essentials and could afford to take a small break, which none of them never would have if surviving alone.

Of course there were the small downsides to everything as well. More people meant more mouths to feed and more equipment to survive the harsh weather conditions. And for the worst part of all, living so closely with so many people always brought up the unavoidable arguments and disagreements.

There was a reason Wilson used to live isolated and alone in the woods. Not only did he have the freedom to do things he wanted and when he wanted, but there was absolutely no one to judge him. Sure, it might have been lonely, but he didn't explain himself to other people when he didn't act like 'a young man like him should'. He prided himself for being a gentleman, but he had learned that he had surprisingly short patience and it wasn't so uncommon to lose his cool when he entered the argument.

Of course he tried his best to avoid arguments, but he wasn't going to let anyone just walk all over him either.

"I'm just saying, we are doing perfectly fine with the amount of armor and weapons we already have, we don't need to-"

"Maybe you don't need them, but I do." Maxwell cut the scientist off rudely and played with the small piece of nightmare fuel in his hand. Wilson eyed it absentmindedly and shook his head with the heavy sigh.

"Okay, I get it, you are weak-"

" _Excuse me?_ "

"- But we need the nightmare fuel for other things too! You can't just hog it all to yourself!"

Maxwell sneered and turned away.

Willow snickered and turned to look at the pair arguing nearby.

"Wilson, are you planning to let the old bastard die? Is that your master plan for revenge, taking his armor away?" The firestarter bit her lip, holding back her laughter. She seemed to enjoy seeing Wilson fight with Maxwell, for what ever reason.

"What? No! I just don't want him to waste the resources!"

"Oh, that's a shame. I would've been on board with you."

Maxwell grunted loudly in frustration and waived his hand dramatically.

"Fine! I'll go fetch you some more fuel if it means I don't have to listen to you crying all about it anymore!" the man didn't give Wilson any time to answer and marched away, carelessly tossing the small puddle of nightmare fuel on the ground. It made a quiet splashing sound and swayed on the ground, making a noise that sounded like a scream, if the scream would've been a whisper.

Wendy walked over to scoop it up and rather unceremoniously dropped it back into it's chest. Wilson was thankful he didn't need to touch it. He found the dark matter unnerving, a little interesting maybe, but despite that he was careful to not mess around with the stuff. Who knows what it was even made out of? Nightmares, probably. He didn't want to let his mind wander deeper into that territory, the nightmares were not physical, material medium that could take a form, the very existence of the little black goo was backwards and unscientific as can be, he still hadn't been able to understand how it could even materialize, maybe he would be able to test around it someday-

Wilson shook the thought out of his head and rubbed his neck. No time for that now, the little puddle of nightmares could wait. He turned to gaze after Maxwell, even though the man had already disappeared out of his sight. He sighed again.

"...Going after him before he does something stupid." he muttered to Willow and walked in the direction he supposed Maxwell was headed. The woman waved at him with a smirk.

Wilson found the magician picking the evil flowers around the dead tree that looked like it had a face, and made Wilson want to burn it down just so he didn't have to think about it creepily staring at him with it's hollow eye holes. Instead he just coughed to let Maxwell know he was there. The man didn't react at all to his presence, continuing to pick the nasty flowers off the ground.

"Look, I get it. You-" 

"If you came here to fight, get it over with. I'm busy and I prefer not to waste my time with petty arguments."

Wilson felt his cheeks burn with rosy color when he let out a growl. Maxwell was the one who _started_ all the petty arguments!

"Who said I came here to- Urgh forget it! I just wanted to say that we need that creepy stuff too, so I would appreciate it if you didn't use all of it."

Maxwell was still kneeling on the ground, but he turned to peek Wilson over his shoulder, raising his brow "So you came here to fight."

Wilson had to physically restrain himself from punching Maxwell. He didn't know why he even bothered when it was evident that the man couldn't be reasoned with. Their conversations just ran around in circles without any real improvement in any direction.

"No, I came here to say that if you need the nightmare fuel so much you can just ask for it! It'd be nice to at least be aware of how much we have left of it in case we actually need to use it to something important!" Wilson tried really hard not to yell, but Maxwell was really good at making him mad. Wilson didn't know if he tried to poke Wilson's nerves on purpose or if it was just a natural talent, but boy did it make him want to kick his ass.

Maxwell stood up and turned to face him properly, and Wilson's eyes lowered to the big bunch of vicious looking flowers in his hands. The flowers, the evil-kind, always made him nervous. It was like an odor that sneaked up your nose and made you all fuzzy and ill. Just like now, he could already feel himself getting a little skittish. Maxwell on the other hand didn't seem very bothered by them, which kind of annoyed Wilson even more because he was more than bothered by the flowers. The sneaky little things, messing up his brain, planning their evil flowery plans...

"So, me making sure that I don't die isn't important?"

Wilson wanted to pull his hair "No! I mean yes! I mean, y-you know what I mean!" He protested and turned his face on the ground to hide the crimson hue on his face.

Maxwell laughed that annoying way he always did when he pretended to know something that Wilson didn't, and Wilson hated it, it always made him feel like he was being ridiculed by the older man, and for what? For knowing less than Maxwell in the world that was created my Maxwell?! It made no sense at all and yet the other still had the audacity to laugh at him like he was an idiot, like he was-

Wilson flinched when he felt the hand on his cheek. When had Maxwell made his way in front of him? He hadn't paid any attention, he was too focused on being angry. Wilson placed his hand on Maxwell's chest to push him away, to escape from the man, out of an old habit. Maxwell didn't budge, so Wilson just took a step back himself, stopping to stare at the other man. Maxwell just let his hand gently rest on his cheek, not getting any closer anymore.

"You seem a little antsy. You're shaking, you know. Go back to the camp."

Wilson gulped and grabbed Maxwell's arms. He had the habit of getting overwhelmed by a lot of unnatural things in this world, much like many other survivors. It was because of the flowers, and that damn creepy tree that was alive but looked dead. Maybe it was plotting something, too. It was those kind of things that ate away his sanity, always in the worst moments.

Wilson frowned and pushed his head against Maxwell. That wasn't the only reason though. It was also Maxwell. Wilson was a little annoyed, and it's not like it was the end of the world, but the man was just... he was just so easy to get frustrated with! If he just, for once, listened and didn't try to twist the words and meanings, if he just let Wilson make up with him so all of their fights didn't have to end up in awkward silence, and they never fixed it afterwards, never, ever, it didn't feel nice to just move on from something that wasn't even settled...

"Are you okay? Because pal, you really don't look so good."

"Just...the flowers. They make me- " Wilson grunted and pressed his eyes shut tightly, breathing through his teeth. Maxwell dropped the world's ugliest bouquet down and let his hand slip down on Wilson's shoulder.

"You really don't look well. You should go back."

"Mm-Immmfine..." Wilson pressed his face into Maxwell and breathed in the scent. This was better. Maxwell smelled so much better than the flowers that now laid on their feet. His mind began clearing up again.

Maxwell tightened his grip on Wilson's shoulder, really getting uncomfortable being hold in this way. Wilson had become so clingy as of late. The shorter man pushed his head on his chest and kept breathing into his shirt, which really made Maxwell want to take few steps back. Or run away and never return, more like. Much like his clumsiness with expressing sympathy, he also found he wasn't good at handling the intimate situations either. And Wilson burying his face into him and taking in deep slow breaths as if he was smelling Maxwell like flower, that was really, really intimate for him.

Wilson didn't notice, he was just starting to calm down and now that the flowers were dead on the ground he could feel their influence leaving his mind. For a moment he was comfortably secure and warm, and then he realized what he was doing. He was left with the awkward heat burning in his cheeks now that he realized that his face was practically inside Maxwell's shirt and he was digging his nails on his arms.

It had only been few days since they had sex, and that night at the camp Wilson had warily asked if Maxwell could maybe sleep in his tent tonight. Maxwell had refused, which wasn't a real surprise to him, but when Wilson went to sleep and curled up in his fur roll, he almost had a heart-attack when one of Maxwell's shadows had appeared next to him in the middle of the night. It hadn't done anything until Wilson gently guided it to lay beside him, which it complied quietly, and Wilson felt calm and safe to fall asleep, laying his head next to the vague figure of a man.

Maxwell send his shadow clones over his tent a couple of times after that, but he never addressed it, not directly at least, and Wilson could only wonder what his intentions were. Because he did actually feel safe when there was someone - something, in this case - keeping him company and holding him when he fell asleep and it had helped him a lot with his anxiety and fear, and the creatures that creeped around in his vision were starting to fade in the fast rate, and he wanted to talk about it with Maxwell but... 

Wilson sighed and held Maxwell closer without even noticing it. He had tried to talk with Maxwell about everything, but the other man was always so good at avoiding things, and he just always managed to slip away from Wilson's figurative grip. He was sly as a fox and every time Wilson thought that he had a good chance to ask him about some things, Maxwell always found a way to sneak out of the conversation.

But he never left very far. Never so far that Wilson couldn't find him almost immediately if he wanted to.

Wilson suddenly realized that Maxwell had been quiet for a while now. He rose his eyes carefully to see if Maxwell was looking at him. He wasn't. Maxwell had turned his head sideways and seemed to be looking at nothing in particular, his signature sombre expression on his face and his cheeks colored slightly pink. Wilson wondered what the other man thought about. Could it be that... Maxwell was just shy? Was that what was going on?

Like always, it was really hard to tell with Maxwell. Wilson could only guess. Unless he was direct with the man, and they were alone at the moment, so...

He opened his mouth to speak, but realized that he didn't know what to say. Where should he start? About the whole suddenly-being-kind-of-nice thing? The shadows? The fact that they had sex (really, that was the weirdest thing of all)? And what would Maxwell even tell him if he asked about those things? Was he waiting to hear some specific answer or was he just wanting an answer of any kind because this was getting a little bit confusing?

He couldn't find any words when he looked at the other man, his mouth slightly agape and still holding Maxwell's arms on his grip. Well, there were other ways to find out what Maxwell thought about than using his words...

Wilson released his hand from Maxwell only to place it on his chin. Maxwell seemed to froze from his touch, and Wilson hesitated for a second. But the magician didn't pull away, so Wilson turned his head towards him and leaned in to kiss him. He partly expected that Maxwell would push him away and start yelling at him, but the man didn't do anything even remotely to get away from him. It was a good sign, right?

Wilson let go of his other arm too and slipped it behind his neck. He pulled Maxwell closer and closer, until the man was leaning over him, easily almost towering above the shorter man. Wilson had closed his eyes, but he could sense that they were standing in very awkward way that could only end up in them falling down on the ground. Wilson didn't really want that, but he didn't want to let go either. He missed this. He wanted this. He needed this. He didn't want to think too deep why or how, but he felt just so much better when he was holding Maxwell close, when they weren't fighting or shooting murderous glares at each other. And Maxwell put one of his hands behind Wilson's back and kept him in his hold, until Wilson eventually had to pull his lips away to breath.

He opened his eyes to watch Maxwell's black irises for a moment. Maxwell didn't seem to be mad in the slightest. He seemed almost calm. Almost like someone else entirely. Wilson let his hand rub Maxwell's neck as he leaned to whisper in his ear.

"Let's get to the better position, yeah? My legs hurt from stretching to reach you, you freaking giant."


	7. The talk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell isn't sure what he wants. Meanwhile Willow wants to talk to Wilson about his situation.

Maxwell kicked a small rock away when he walked across the forest to find Wilson's backpack. The scientist downright refused to go anywhere near the marsh area again, and after a small and dumb argument Maxwell had given in and now he had to get that idiot's stuff like he was some kind of a dog, fetching the newspaper.

Well, he didn't really blame Wilson for this. He hated to admit it to himself, but he felt a sting in his heart when he even thought about Wilson's alarmed face when he was reminded that his old backpack and more importantly everything in it was still sitting in the swampy area where he had left it. Wilson had argued that there wasn't anything that important in it, that they were doing just fine without it, and Maxwell had yet again reminded him that everything in Constant was important and shouldn't be wasted. And then Wilson had gotten defensive and mad and Maxwell had just given up and gone to get his damned stuff instead. 

It wasn't like him at all. He hated how much he apparently wanted to protect Wilson. How much he wanted to keep him safe and see him happy rather than scared or sad or angry. He kicked another rock, directing his frustration towards the nature instead. What was wrong with him? What happened to his plans to keep his distance and avoid getting involved in all this messy touchy-feely stuff? At this point he could argue that he didn't care and he was doing this just to survive, but he already knew that it was a lie. He could fool everyone else in this world except for himself.

He sneered and thrust his hands into his pockets. If he was still the King, he could've just taunted and teased Wilson to go get his own things that he had left there, reminding him that it was not _his_ responsibility to look after Wilson's belongings, and it was his own damn fault that the bag had stood there for heaven knows how long, all the food spoiled ages ago. If he was still the King, he would've just been amused by all of this. Hell, he would've probably caused all of this to happen in the first place. He didn't have anything else to cling to back then than giving _Them_ something to watch, to entertain _Them_ , and he sure as hell didn't have anything to lose by playing his little games with the puny, pathetic survivors.

And he tried very hard to keep it that way, to not have anything to lose, to see this through without getting attached to something that he _could_ lose, somehow. But it was getting more and more difficult. Surviving had always been difficult, but before that was because he knew he was the most likely target whenever something went wrong and it was a continuous battle to assure the group that they could still use his servises and help, that he wasn't worthy of killing off just yet. Now it was difficult because Wilson had, against of all of Maxwell's best resistance, sneaked under his skin and gotten a little too close for his liking.

Maxwell absentmindedly wondered when he had exactly let this happen, and almost walked past the road that lead to the swamp. He growled. He just had to try harder then. It shouldn't be so hard to remind Wilson that getting too close to people in a place like this was a really bad idea. 

\---

Wilson hummed while he was tossing carrots into the crockpot. He had been feeling so much better lately. Not just about his body, but over all his mood was lifted and he found himself to be more spry and productive too. Most of the shadow creatures that danced around his vision had disappeared and the whispers had vanished altogether.

"Sömeöne is in the gööd mööd töday, eh?" Wigfrid sat beside him and started piling meat in the fridge. Wilson gave her a smile and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Sömething special happened?"

"Not really" Wilson lied through his teeth and closed the pot. He wasn't sure how he felt about Maxwell, but he had started to see the man in much more positive light lately. Sure Maxwell was a jerk, but maybe he wasn't all that evil after all. He couldn't be. Not only because Wilson really wanted to see the good in people, but also because he didn't want to think that he was sleeping with someone like that. 

Maxwell kept sending his shadow puppets over to Wilson's tent when he went to sleep, and even though Wilson would rather take the real Maxwell in his tent, he was flattered by the gesture.

He had noticed that even though Maxwell was still as cold and cranky as he had always been, the magician still didn't chase him away when no-one else was around, when Wilson was feeling needy and wanted Maxwell to just kiss him and hold him and make him feel better. And Wilson really appreciated that Maxwell was letting him take the lead. That he was almost considerate and kind, although only when they were alone. Or maybe it was exactly because he was like that when they were alone. It would've been so easy to take advantage of him when there wasn't anyone else nearby who could come to his aid.

Although, Wilson reminded himself, Maxwell had never won a fight against him after he was stripped of his powers that the throne had given him. Even with his dark shadowy book in his hands, he was still a lot weaker than Wilson, which the scientist had always found kinda humorous. Someone he had once been genuinely scared of was now being so damn helpless, and that thought just amused him. He had always been very proud of himself when he got to swipe that arrogant smirk away and put Maxwell back to his place, which was now among all the other survivors like him. They were all in the same boat here, and it was, especially in the first few days, a delight to see Maxwell realize just how powerless and weak he was. That he wasn't above them anymore and he had to swallow his pride and get used to being just one of the lowly pawns on the board.

Wilson leaned on his hand. Maxwell was just like the rest of them now, wasn't he? He had changed. Not all the way, but enough for Wilson to admit that he maybe even enjoyed his company now. A little. Or a little too much. He wasn't quite sure yet what the hell he felt, but he had started to think that maybe it was fondness, some sort of attraction even.

A sudden shadow in his vision caught his attention, and Wilson lifted his head to see Willow standing directly in front of him, clicking her lighter open and close nervously. It was never a good sign, for a couple of reasons in her case.

"Heyy, can I talk with you?" she asked, aiming at the worry-free voice that was betrayed by her expression that looked everything except worry-free.

Wilson frowned. 'we need to talk' usually meant something negative had to be discussed, and asking to talk with someone was usually sign that something needed to be spoken in privacy. Which also often turned out to be something unpleasant.

"Sure, come on." Wilson stood up and gestured her to follow him near the treeline, a few meters away from the camp "what's the matter?" 

"That should be my question here!" Willow started, gaining a confused head tilt from the scientist.

"What's the deal with you and Maxwell suddenly being all buddy-buddy and all that jazz?"

Wilson blinked. This was not what he had expected and he quickly disguised his anxiety in small laugh.

"Hehhhwhat?" he smirked "Where have you gotten the idea that we're 'all buddy-buddy' now? Have you seen how hard it is to stand beside him and _not_ punch him in the face?" Wilson thought about their stupid fight about his forgotten backpack this morning. Yes, Maxwell was, by all accounts, still a huge jerk.

Willow pouted.

"Mm-hmm, sure. Why do you keep sneaking around with him then?" Her expression grew darker and the flickering of the lighter increased "I've seen how you two always talk quietly to each other and disappear somewhere together. I know something is up, so you better tell me."

Wilson felt his cheeks getting warm and turned his head on the side and shrugged "Nothing is going on, Willow. I've just needed his help a couple of times and he was nice enough to grant it. I don't see what the big deal is, it's not like there's any harm in that."

Willow took him by his shoulders and Wilson had to fight himself to not push her away. The firestarter looked uptight, slightly shaking his shoulders as her vocals rose up.

"No harm? _No harm?!_ Have you lost your mind? Don't you remember what he has done to us - what he has done to you! He has put you through so much suffering and countless deaths and has he ever even apologized for that?"

"He has, once." Wilson muttered from the side of his mouth. Willow screeched.

"Once! If you ask me, he should apologize _once_ for _every_ single death he has caused to every single one of us, and he doesn't seem like he is all that sorry either way!"

Wilson turned to face her, furrowing.

"Maybe he is, I don't know. Why does this bother you so much?" he asked, trying his best not to join Willow in her tantrum and start yelling.

"It worries me because I don't trust _him_ and I'm worried about _you_! Do you think I _want_ you to get hurt? Anything that needs to be done in secret with that guy can't be good, he is planning something and I know it!"

"I think you might be slightly over-reacting."

" _Over-reacting!?!_ Umm, _hello? Earth to Wilson?_ Think about how many times he has lied to you! Or used you for his own benefit, manipulated you to do his bidding, played with your head, purposefully lead you astray! And need I remind you who's fault it is in the first place that you were sucked into this god-forsaken dimension?"

Wilson wanted to deny all that so badly. But it was all true, he knew there was a possibility that Maxwell was just playing some kind of game with him again, but he really wanted to believe that he wasn't like that anymore.

"... Willow. I thank you for your concern, but you really don't have to worry. I don't think he is a bad guy, not really. He is one of us now, right?"

Willow pulled her hair and let out an frustrated groan.

"Urrgghn you make me wanna set something on fire....!"

"Oh, please don't. We can't afford to built the whole base again."

"Fine! Then tell me what is he helping you with, so I can at least have some peace of mind!"

Wilson bit his lip and kicked a small pebble, avoiding her eyes "It's confidential."

"Oh, so you trust him but you can't trust me." Willow sounded outright offended, letting go of his shoulders and taking a step back.

"No! No no, it's not like that at all! I just... I'm trying to give him a chance, you know? To let him make amends if he wants to. And I think that he does." Wilson comforted the young woman, turning to smile at her and took her hand on his own. Out of all the other people in the group, Willow was one of the closest friends he had. They had been through a lot together and if there was someone he trusted, it was Willow.

Willow squinted her eyes, but seemed to at least calm down a little.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt. I wanted to remind you to not let him get into your head. I know you're not stupid, though it sure looks like it sometimes, but I needed to make sure you are not blind to what he is doing."

"...What is he doing, then?" Wilson questioned, ignoring the insult to his intelligence. Willow looked like she was about to go off again, but managed to control her temper.

"Well, he is untrustworthy. I saw him stealing from the chest the other day."

"Willow, everyone can use the chests."

"I'm not finished! And sure, yeah, maybe the things are there to be used, but it would sure as hell help if he replaced something he takes, even for once! He's just exploiting the group and is giving nothing in return. There are limited resources in this world, Wilson! What if someone dies, and we need an amulet - but ohhh nooo, there is none, because _someone_ took the last one and didn't tell anyone! And the winter gear! Has he done _anything at all_ to get what we need to stay warm? I don't think so. You know what he does do, though? He does provide the things _he_ needs, and he gets mad if someone touches his things, but he still expects to be allowed to take the things from others!"

Wilson wanted to remark that Willow didn't have to scream when they were standing face to face, but he instead took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

"Okay, he hasn't really been a great team-player, I give you that. But maybe he is learning. I think he tries, at least. Give him a chance."

" _There!_ " Willow pointed her fingertip on Wilson's nose, victorious expression on her face as if she had just proven the point " _That_ is what you are blind to! He is using you as a shield! You know him better than anyone else, you have personal history with him, and he knows that we all trust your opinion. And he can keep being sly and mean and horrible person behind your back and then he will play a nice guy for you, and he makes _you_ do all the dirty work to bend us to his will because he knows we trust you and listen to you!"

The awkward silence fell over them, Wilson staring at the young woman, mouth agape. Willow seemed at least a little compassionate for a second, but she stood her ground, facing Wilson with a stern expression. A disgusting, nauseating feeling grasped his gut and started to creep up his spine as his thoughts started to race around. Maybe... Maybe Willow was right. Was he really that gullible? It wouldn't be the first time he let the older man use him. It was almost too easy to believe, too easy to understand why Maxwell was being uncharacteristically nice to him. So that was all, he was only using Wilson, again?

But then the small ounce of hope entered his doubtful mind, and he reminded himself how far they had become, where they started from, how Maxwell really, honestly did seem like a different person lately. And he... he sometimes seemed to go a little further than he needed to, to be a good guy. He had come a long way from the dark King sitting on his throne. He was trying to be better. And that was Wilson wanted to believe, and that was what he decided was his truth.

They stood there for a while, Wilson tapping his fingers on his waist and Willow biting her lip and flickering the lighter, although not so nervously as before. Wilson gave up the silence first.

"Tell you what; If it starts to look like things are going out of my hand, I will let you take the control and slap some sense into me" he offered, and smiled the way he hoped was reassuring, and Willow seemed to mimic that smile, a little too brightly.

"...I feel like for the sake of my own safety, I should tell you right now that the slapping part was figurative."

"Wilson" Willow gasped, a wounded pout on her face "How dare you assume that I would ever do something like that!"

Wilson laughed as they returned to the camp, and Willow smiled at him the warmest smile she could.

"I would just burn off your eyebrows instead."

Wilson made a mental note to never get on her blacklist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deamn Willow, I know fire is your thing but you don't have to roast Maxwell so much.


	8. In my heart, it's always dark.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell is confused and doesn't like the feelings he feels. Wilson tries to handle being without him, and Wendy does not help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Wendy, she is my main and basically The Mood™.

Maxwell finally found the cursed backpack, right there were it had been abandoned. He scooped in up and hastily went through it. It at least seemed that Wilson was right, it contained hardly anything useful that couldn't be replaced easily. Axe, torch, reeds and a whole lot of rot that must've been food at some point. Maxwell grimaced and closed the bag. Wilson could clean up the mess inside, the magician was not going to dirty his own hands by opening the smelly bag up again.

He took his sweet time getting back to the camp. Not that he was needed there anyway, and Wilson could surely use some practice of being without him for a change. Maxwell grunted, stopping to sit by a tree. He summoned some shadows, ordered them to work, and sank into his own thoughts.

He hated how much he thought about Wilson. Even before they had become this close, the scientist was...Well, he was important to Maxwell, and not only because he kept him alive for this long. Wilson was clever, not nearly as genius as he thought, but it was endearing how he insisted being one of the smartest in the group. And Wilson had a strong sense of justice that only came second to his good nature.

Maxwell didn't deserve how fairly Wilson treated him. When he run into Wilson again after the other man was freed from the throne, not long after himself, he almost expected that Wilson would've killed him, or at least left him behind to die.

No, of course he wouldn't. Wilson hated his guts, but he could never leave someone to die if he could help it. Instead he let Maxwell stay over his campfire, eat his food, Wilson taught him to survive because, as much as he hated to admit it, he had no chance staying alive without his help. And Wilson seemed almost happy when they built the portal together, and some time after that... the others came.

And Maxwell hated that he was actually _jealous_. He, Maxwell, the nightmare King, was jealous because the man he tortured and killed thousands of times found himself some friends.

The ex-King picked up a flower and examined it in his gloves hands. They didn't like him much, but Wilson was still sticking up for him, promising to keep him in check and assuring he was more or less harmless before they let them stay. Wilson stood for him, because it was the right thing to do. He was too compassionate, too forgiving, too fair. He tried so, so hard to see something in Maxwell that the older man had recently started to wonder could actually even exists. And Wilson saw it before he knew it was there, somehow.

Maxwell crushed the flower in his hand, slowly opening his palm and letting the petals fall on the ground. But Wilson was not a fool. He didn't trust Maxwell, and it was only fair, because he was right not to. Maxwell wasn't someone he should trust. If he had to choose between living and letting Wilson live, he would never choose Wilson. He would leave the man die in a heartbeat, and he would perhaps feel sorry about it, but he would do it anyway. He would always choose to keep himself safe rather than save Wilson, no matter how cowardly that would make him look like.

That was him, from the surface to his very core, and even though some rational thought whispered in his ear that he already had put his life in line to save Wilson a couple of times, he had put his own comfort on side to make Wilson feel better, he shook that whisper out of his head. That was not him. That was someone he pretended to be, someone he wished he was, someone that may have been inside him, a long, long time ago, but that man was dead and done and he couldn't go back to being a good guy, not after all he had done, not after all he had become.

Maxwell stood up and dusted his suit, letting go of his thoughts. He was good at blocking the unwanted things away. It was part of the act, to put on a show, to pretend being someone else until you eventually became that person. And if he acted really hard that the whispers and fears and doubts didn't exist, then he knew, someday, they would cease to be.

Maxwell felt content with that last thought he sacrificed to his small crisis and decided to join his clones for cutting some trees down, if not to distract himself from everything, then to at least show everyone else that he could be of use even when they didn't believe in him.

\---

It was getting really dark. Wilson sat over the science machine making blueprints, glancing up at the setting sun every once in a while. The swamp wasn't _that_ far away, and it was just a backpack. It shouldn't have taken the whole day to retrieve it. He tapped the featherpencil on the paper and found that he couldn't concentrate. He was worried. Worried about what? That Maxwell was hurt? That he had left? That he was somewhere doing something, alone, possibly even something malefic?

He stretched his aching muscles and left the workstation alone. No use sitting there doing nothing. Instead he dragged his feet over to the birdcage where the kids were playing, giving the bird seeds and trying to apparently teach it to speak.

"Say Webber! Web-ber!!"

"Say Wendy."

"Say thank you, I like seed!!"

"Say Nugget. That could be your feet, someday."

"Say, kids, what is this?" Wilson smirked, shooing away his worry. Maxwell was fine, he was always fine. Both of the younglings turned to look at him.

"We are playing with mister bird!"

"He is not very good at it."

"I see" Wilson sat down and watched as Webber tried to empty his whole vocabulary in hopes that maybe the bird would understand one of the words and open it's little peak.

"What is plaguing your mind?" The blonde girl asked, sitting next to Wilson.

"Huh? Oh, nothing. You're done with the bird already?"

"No. If I was done with it, it would be dead."

Wilson had always felt creeped out about Wendy's morbid little remarks on things, but it was surprising how fast you got used to things in the place like this.

"Uncle has been away for a whole day. I wonder what is keeping him."

Wilson curled his fingers.

"You noticed it too? He doesn't do that, usually. He doesn't like to take risks..."

Wendy nodded, caressing Abigail's flower in her hands gently "I would hate to lose another member of my already small family. Even if distant, I feel the bond between us." She closed her eyes, bringing the flower to her cheek as if to give it a hug, and hid it somewhere in her clothes. Wilson felt cold. He didn't want to think about the possibility that Maxwell could die, somewhere in the Constant, alone. He shook is head.

"I'm sure he is fine."

"You shouldn't lie, mister Wilson. Uncle Maxwell is never fine." she almost smiled at his horrified expression, and brought her hand over her heart, looking down "Such is the life of us Carters. We never had much luck in life, destined to suffer alone through this world with only the promise of sweet death's release moving our legs forward."

Wilson had imagined that sitting here watching the children play would brighten his mind a little, put him at ease. Wendy had done the absolute opposite, possibly even worsening his fear. The little girl didn't even seem to notice the impact she had on him, she just hummed to herself, still keeping her head bowed, hand on her chest.

"I... I think I should go and get the fire going, it's gonna be dark soon" he explained, a little shaken, and stood up to go do just that.

"In my heart, it's always dark."

Wilson shuddered, prying his mind away from Wendy and her incredibly life-crushing view of the world. He firmly believed that nobody should be forced to be happy all the time, everyone had their bad days, but Wendy was just like the embodiment of the depression itself, and that was kinda scary sometimes. He wondered if it ran in the family.

Eventually Wilson got the fire going and sat there to eat something, still keeping an eye on the kids. Wendy still sat on the ground, but her attention was back on Webber, who had moved on to teaching the confused bird the alphabet. Wilson leaned on his hand, watching them until the others, who had been out doing their chores, returned. He sat there chatting with them, eating and joking. He sat there when the the horizon ate the sunlight. He sat there when most of them went to sleep.

He sat there, waiting. 

Maxwell was not back.

Why was Maxwell not back?

Wilson needed him back, now, he needed him back even sooner! What was keeping him away for so long? Had he gotten lost? Had something distracted him? Was he stuck somewhere?

The scientist bit his fingernails and tossed another log in the flames. How long had it been from sundown? The nights started to get longer and longer as they moved towards the winter, and he couldn't remember if Maxwell had any supplies to make a fire with him. He should wait here. No, no he shouldn't, he was too worried, he was so used to having Maxwell around, or even knowing where he was, he didn't like it when he didn't know if something had happened.

He couldn't even bear think about how he could survive without the magician, he needed him. Who he could lean on if he felt weak, who would understand why he felt frightened, who would protect him if something bad happened??

Wilson spit the cracked nail from his mouth and gazed into the dark. Some part of him didn't want to go looking for Maxwell. _Let him rot there, he chose to go, it's not your fault_ , the part hissed. But Wilson knew that part, that was the scared, bitter part of him. That was the part that made him wish that Maxwell would just magic himself up from somewhere, accompanied by the puff of smoke and cigar in his hand like he used to. And then he would disappear again, be stuck on that stupid throne were Wilson at least knew where he was. He would be there, safe, safe and somewhere where Wilson could find him.

He hated himself for thinking that. When had he become such a coward? When had he let his fear step over his morality? It wasn't right. He knew it wasn't.

And yet. Yet he sat there, gazing into the darkness a little bit longer.

Then he stood up and walked to catch his minerhat.


	9. Bound to the throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson realizes that he isn't the only one with the issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mom said it's my turn to be traumatized"
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter contains some elements of PTSD/panic attack, and minor violence.

Maxwell sat over the small fire, pressing a spider gland on his side. Damned treeguard, just his luck. The pain wasn't the worst he had experienced, but it still ached and pulsed painfully under his hands. Maxwell sighed, feeling very alone. He didn't have strength to make another shadow, and he hadn't sat alone in the wilderness for a very long time, and now he realized that he felt very lonely. He had almost gotten use to the late nights in the camp, where he was surrounded by tents full of sleeping people and the librarian would occasionally offer him some tea or small chit-chat to keep them both entertained.

The magician fought away another flash of pain in his head. It wasn't enough that the shadows always made him dizzy and a tad bit delirious, but he also had gotten a rough beating from the treeguard. A small treeguard, but nonetheless a dangerous creature that he didn't have means or gear to fight against, yet he did, for some reason. Maybe he was getting reckless with his attempts to learn to defend himself. Well at least, even if this small victory had cost him a lot of health, it was still a victory. He didn't want to always lean on others, he couldn't. He felt a little proud of himself, willing away the pain on his side and his head.

He just wished someone was there to share this victory with him. He... he didn't like being alone anymore. Maxwell almost scared himself with that realization. He was so used to it on the throne, but after getting away, after having someone to talk to, someone to look at, someone to touch... he didn't know that was something he had been longing for, sitting on the darkness, all alone for years on end.

A rustle in the dark caught his attention, and Maxwell jumped up, weighting his changes of survival without his sword. He did not have enough nightmare fuel, and the banging headache begged him to choose a different method of protecting himself.

Maxwell grabbed an axe and glared into the darkness. Something hissed, behind his back, and the man hurled around to see... nothing. The light danced around the empty ground, and he wasn't sure if it was his mind loosing the grip on reality or if the darkness just played it's tricks on the old eyes.

"...Charlie? Is it you out there?" he called out carefully, hesitantly. For a second he could almost spot a figure, darker than the darkness itself, could almost swear his dark pupils met the big dolly eyes and the smell of roses-

"No, it's me. And there is no one else here." The familiar voice from behind answered, rather confused.

Maxwell turned to look at Wilson, who in turn looked around his temporary camping setup "Who is Charlie?" 

"She- She is... Nobody. What are you doing here Higgsbury?" Maxwell was surprised to see the man out at all after the dark. He thought Wilson would surely never leave the camp without at least some company, not after the dark at least, and absolutely not to the direction of the swamp.

Wilson furrowed his eyebrows.

"Well, you didn't return and I got worried. Are you okay? You look a little... roughed up." he snapped the light off his minerhat and made a motion with his hand to gesture towards Maxwell.

Maxwell turned his head back to the opposite direction of Wilson, but the hissing sound had already ceased and the darkness was just the darkness again. Ah, of course it couldn't have been her, not the real her at least. She couldn't be reached by words any longer. Maxwell felt the pressure built up in his throat and swallowed. He really wished to apologize to her, for so many things. Even once.

He could hear Wilson clearing his throat.

"You could at least answer me. Or say 'thank you', you know. I came here just to make sure you are not laying death somewhere."

Maxwell heard the irking tone in his voice, and he instantly felt a little annoyed himself. Wilson shouldn't be angry at him, he had done nothing wrong this time. It was Wilson's fault he was out here anyway, beaten up by a treeguard, and having a terrible yearning for his only friend, a friend he could never see again.

"hmp."

"That's all?"

"Fine. Thank you. There is your damn backpack, go back to camp Mr. Higgsbury" He snarled, eyes still lingering in the pitch black void, as if Charlie would somehow reappear if he just gazed there long enough.

Suddenly he was snatched around, and he barely knew what was happening until he felt hard knuckles land on his cheek. The tall man swirled around and with a lot of difficulty managed to keep himself from falling on the ground. He brought his hand to touch a red, probably soon bruised area on his face, and his eyes snapped at Wilson, who stood there balling his fists.

"You are ungrateful and mean, you know that?! All I wanted was to make sure you are okay because I actually _care_ , and you treat me like I did something wrong just by coming here to look for you?!" Wilson was visibly shaken, furious even, but mostly he was hurt. Maxwell knew he probably shouldn't escalate the situation, but he felt himself getting angrier and angrier when he thought about that cursed backpack and how he actually might have been able to see Charlie again, until Wilson came and ruined everything, even if the thought was far-fetched.

"Well maybe you _did_ do something wrong by coming to look for me! Don't always assume you are right about everything!" He was glad it was dark, because he felt the blood rush on his cheeks, one of them pulsing from the punch "I don't need your help!"

Wilson was taken aback by that, losing his anger temporarily, even lowering his shoulders a little. Then his eyes narrowed.

"I should've made you _beg for it_ when you where creeping in the dark before I let you come to my campfire. You would be _dead_ without me."

This time it was Maxwell who delivered the punch that landed next to Wilson's eye. How _dare_ that puny, insignificant, useless brat imply that he would never, _ever_ beg for his help! He would beg for _no one!_ Maxwell wasn't sure if it was because the heat of the situation or if there was some old piece of him talking, but he suddenly he felt nothing but anger, anger for everything. For Wilson, for _Them_ , for Charlie, for himself.

The shorter man growled and jumped at Maxwell, pushing him down on the ground, and started ruthlessly punching him, and Maxwell tried to punch back. He hissed and kicked and did everything to push the younger man off of his torso, but Wilson pushed him back down every time. Maxwell clawed him, he spit and even tried to pull himself close enough to bite, but he was already tired from the battle with the treeguard and the wound in his side pulsed the pain every time he moved. Wilson easily pinned him down, taking him by both of his wrist to avoid being assaulted further. The flames reflected from his eyes, making him almost look like the devil himself.

The fire had dimmed, not dangerously enough for either of them to care, but they were wrestling on that thin line where the light met the darkness, where they weren't attacked but where the colors turned grey and the darker shades faded into the background.

Maxwell was getting tired, but he still fought to break free. He didn't like being pinned against the ground. He hated when he couldn't move, he could feel the blood rushing in his veins and his heart racing. The breathing was getting harder. He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

"You want more or what?" The snarky voice came from the figure over him.

No, no he didn't, he was just trying break free.

Maxwell could feel the darkness around him, see the shadows even when he knew, _he knew_ they were not there. And yet he saw them. And he couldn't move. He struggled against the force that limited his movement, but the force pushed him down. The breath was getting shallow, thin. He didn't like being held hostage, being tied up, being imprisoned. Not again. He couldn't do it again, he had been there for _so long_.

Maxwell's eyes jolted to see the darkness that loomed next to him, and the darkness grinned at him. It wrapped itself around his arms, around him, keeping him still for the eternity. And he was tired, he wanted to stop fighting it and surrender to the throne, but he feared it. He feared the loneliness, the thoughts, the shadows. He could hear the faint echo of the gramophone in the distance. It played the song, and the song went on and on. It never stopped, it never started, it just played until he could hear nothing else. Not a second of silence to think, to calm down, to sleep, to escape.

Maxwell tensed. His fingers were cramping, he felt his back aching against the hard surface, against the cold that held him for so long. Oh, how he wished he could sit on something soft for a change. Or just move a little, shift a bit, stand up. He couldn't, he wasn't allowed to.

He could only play their game, and when there was nothing else than the cold, uncaring, mocking darkness that swam around him, wrapping his body inside it's unloving arms, he would choose the game to have something, _anything_. Anything than the emptiness and the music and the silky strings that strangled his body.

_...Ax...ell...?_

_...re...y...ou...k?_

There was something, someone. A voice, an echo. Maxwell realized his eyes felt watery when he tried to blink. That was the one thing he couldn't have on the throne that he was grateful for. He couldn't feel. He could just dwell on the blissful nothingness that pet him and promised him things he knew he could never have. And he wanted to believe it so bad, he wanted to give himself to _Them_ just so he could have that little beautiful lie to himself, just for a little while.

"...M...xwell...? Maxwell...? What's wrong?"

Ah, yes, a voice. Someone was calling him, much clearer this time. Maxwell felt his whole body trembling, he couldn't remember when that had started, but the voice sounded distressed about it. Funny, the shadows were never worried about anything but themselves. This must be a trick, a new way to taunt their captive ruler.

Then, suddenly, the pressure over his body eased. Maxwell gasped, curling his fingers deep into his palms. He didn't dare to move. He was so scared that this was some cruel joke on him. That if he tried, something bad would happen. _They_ would laugh at him for trying to leave and he would be stuck there again when the shadows abraded his skin and tried to crush his lungs even though _They_ knew he couldn't die on the throne, _They_ did it for fun, to break him, and _They_ would say they did it because they loved him but _They_ were always lying, always.

There was a soft touch below his neck, and someone supported him to sit on the ground - oh, that's right... he wasn't sitting before, he was laying down against the ground. He hadn't noticed it, for some reason.

He tried to steady his breath, but it was difficult to concentrate. He was a little lost, trying to piece things back together. He warily raised his arms, and when nothing stopped him, he curled them all over himself, lowering his head to their safety.

"Deep breaths, buddy... Just breathe, breathe... follow my lead."

Maxwell felt the warm hand rubbing circles on his aching back as the voice coached him, taking deep inhales and slow exhales in the steady rhythm. He started slowly following it, trying to match his shuttering breaths to the clearer ones.

"Yeah, there you go... That's it...That's it, just breathe" The voice was familiar. It was... Maxwell knew who it was, but the name was a little hard to remember. Charlie? No, not Charlie. She was not here. He tried to shake himself back to reality. He was sitting on the ground, not on the throne, and he realized he was somewhere outside. He felt the instant relief wash over him when he registered the cold air, the ground, the fire. He was outside, he was not on the throne. Outside. Free.

His breathing must've changed somehow, because the voice sounded a little alarmed.

"Shh, it's ok Maxwell, it's ok. You're ok. Shh... Calm down."

He nodded, absentmindedly.

"I'm ok" he echoed, swaying a little "I'm ok... Not on the throne anymore..."

The hand stopped rubbing his back for a moment. Then it slowly, hesitantly began again. He felt the man shift to sit closer to him, placing his head on his shoulder, caressing him softly.

Wilson, that was his name. Maxwell grunted, moving his head, making Wilson shot his head up, concerned.

"I'm sorry, did I...?"

"My... head hurts... and my side... there's a... wound...the treeguard..."

Wilson jumped on his knees, starting to undress Maxwell, almost more angrier than before.

"You idiot! Why didn't you tell me you were hurt!" he scolded the man who was still a little confused of his current whereabouts "Oh, no, that spider gland won't do much, but it's good that you at least had some sense to use one... Let's get you back to camp where I can patch you up properly, yeah?"

"I'm... I'm a little tired..." Maxwell felt his lips move on their own. He _was_ very tired. He felt the ache in his bones, the soreness on his skin, the years and years of pressure built up on his muscles.

"I know. It's... It's ok, to be tired."

"I'm just gonna... for a little while..." Maxwell mumbled and started to fall back, but Wilson caught him up before he could land.

"No, we have to get you back to camp! Don't you dare to pass out!" Wilson shook him and glared at his tired, black eyes. 

Maxwell laughed with hoarse voice, moving his eyes around the area, starting to take the information in slowly but surely. Right, the stupid backpack. He was getting it for Wilson, for some unknown reason.

"The backpack...I got it... There's... logs, too, I..."

"Who cares about that stupid backpack?! I didn't even want it back in the first place! Now help me out, move your stupidly long spiderlegs and let's get moving."

It was almost cute how Wilson kicked the ground, slipping himself under his shoulder, trying to hoist him up, face red and huffing from the effort. Maxwell remembered in his foggy mind that he had thought something about Wilson earlier... Something about reminding him of how this place was... bad? That it was bad to... to have someone? Something like that. He couldn't quite catch the thought anymore. Instead he let Wilson help him up and put the minerhat on to light the way back to their camp.

Maxwell was not sure how long they walked, or when he had sat down on the fur roll, Wilson sticking something sweet and tacky on his side that was pulsing with pain, and he tried really hard to remember how he ended up under the fur coat, but in the end he didn't really care. He felt oddly calm when Wilson had his arm around his chest. Not possessively, not keeping him still, not suffocating him. He could leave if he wanted to, but he didn't.

Wilson spoke sleepy words to him softly, something that might've been very nice if Maxwell could concentrate enough to listen, but the weariness had won a long time ago and he drifted to sleep, listening to something else than that blasted ragtime for once.


	10. Reminiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson thinks about his feelings towards Maxwell, and tries to talk with him.

Wilson was cold. He shuddered and he snuggled on something warm on his side to escape the freeze in the air. Winter must be getting close, the nights were too chilly to sleep outside anymore, even inside his tent he was a little bit cold. He tried to bury himself deeper into the fur and pressed tightly to the soft skin next to him.

Wilson snapped his eyes open to that thought. He moved his eyes to see Maxwell's face only inches away from his own. The man was sleeping still, and if not for the slow rising of his chest against Wilson's arm, he could've swore the man was dead. Wilson blinked. That's right, Maxwell fell asleep in his tent after he treated the wound on his side and the bruises on his face after their fight.

The scientist felt sorry that he had punched Maxwell at all. He was just so worried and he could only blame that, and the darkness that ate away his sanity, for his short temper at the moment. And Maxwell had been acting a little weird too, so the other was probably not in his right mind either. That happened often enough here to understand that some fights and accidents only occurred because of poor mental health, and they were often forgiven quickly after that realization.

Wilson brought his hand to lightly touch Maxwell's chin. The man didn't react at all. Wilson's fingers moved slowly to his lips, then his cheek, his ear, his neck, back to his chest. Maxwell looked oddly calm when he was sleeping, which also added to the impression of a corpse. But Wilson almost preferred him like this, looking at ease for once, not so tense and cranky and withdrawn.

Wilson had to wonder when was the last time that Maxwell had actually slept. He obviously could sleep and he could get tired, but he never seemed too bothered about it. Maybe the throne had taken away his need to sleep like normal people did. Or it was just a severe case of insomnia. He would ask about that from Wickerbottom later. Right now he just stared at him sleeping, his mind wandering about how little he actually did know about Maxwell.

What did he know? He knew Maxwell arrived into this world from somewhere so he wasn't born here. He built this place to his liking and tricked people into this world and that he was stuck on the throne most of his time before Wilson found and freed him. He knew that Maxwell possessed some knowledge about _Them_ and how this place worked, and that most of his power came from that book he held so close to him at all times.

That's it, that was all Wilson knew about Maxwell. He didn't know how or why Maxwell came here, or how long he had been here, or what made him sit on the throne in the first place. He didn't know who Maxwell had been before, if he had family, if he had friends. He didn't know what Maxwell liked or what he wanted or what he feared, he knew next to nothing about the man.

Well, after the events of the last night, he knew one thing that Maxwell feared. Maxwell feared the throne. More likely he feared that he would be bound to it again. Wilson furrowed his brows, feeling a deep pity towards the older man.

Wilson had sit on the throne too. He couldn't know how long, since it felt like the time stood still and it was eternally dark in the throne room, but he spend every moment in there fighting against it, to break free from it's strapping and _Their_ whispers. He could only imagine how long Maxwell must've been there to get to the point where he had completely given in and surrendered to his fate. A horrible fate to have, Wilson swallowed the memory away. He could never understand how deep that fear settled inside Maxwell, but he didn't want to bring it out again.

Maxwell had been crying. Not sobbing or screaming, but there had been tears in his eyes and he was shaking. And Wilson didn't know why, but it scared him. Maxwell wasn't allowed to make him feel so scared, he didn't want to be scared for Maxwell. Maxwell got what he deserved. But Wilson didn't like that he deserved it. He wanted to think that maybe Maxwell had already served his sentence and they could allow him to move on. It was difficult to properly judge someone who you didn't even know all that well.

Wilson stuck his nose on Maxwell's shoulder and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't know nearly anything about Maxwell, but he wanted to. He felt safe around Maxwell, and although he hadn't articulated it outloud to anyone, not even Maxwell himself, he doubted it all resulted from _that night_. It was true that it played a part in it, that he desperately clung to the memory of Maxwell saving him and being so kind in his own grumpy way, and it made him feel a little bit more secure to have the other man around, but it wasn't all because of that. He did feel better when Maxwell touched him. He felt safe and in control when that happened, but he also felt a different kind of need to be close to Maxwell. The need that had been there longer than he wanted to admit to himself. It was the same kind of need that he hold towards science and his experiments and inventions. It was something that just came from somewhere deep inside him, a calling, something strong and solid, something that just was him.

Wilson pressed deeper. He knew what it was. He knew that he liked Maxwell and part of his bitterness towards the ex-King came from the hurt. He was hurt that someone he trusted betrayed him. He was hurt that his feelings decided that out of all the people in the whole universe, he grew attached to this one who literally played with his life.

Maybe it was some kind of Stockholm syndrome. It was common thing that happened when people were forced to stick closely to their kidnappers or violators. They started to seem more human, more like someone with issues of their own, someone with a heart that was misguided but could be redirected to the right way again.

That was something the people with the syndrome thought. Wilson didn't think like that, although it would've been a good excuse to throw on the table. He liked Maxwell even before he met him - when he was just the voice on the radio. He had helped Wilson, he had even been encouraging and kind of funny at times, and then there was the mystery about him that captivated Wilson more than anything.

And then the portal took him away, and all the respect and fondness had vanished and were replaced with a grudge and hatred and the thirst for revenge. Back then Wilson really wanted to kill Maxwell. Not at first of course, but after countless of deaths and every new little trick that was thrown on his way, the seeds of wrath and spite grew a garden inside his bones that he learned to cherish and tend to.

And then he saw Maxwell, tied to the throne, looking more pathetic than anything, and Wilson had some newfound compassion in his heart to set the pitiful King free from his prison.

And then someone had freed him from the throne, and against all of his expectations he had run into Maxwell again, and something inside him snapped. The betrayal, the anger, the harassment, the hurt. And he almost felt the need to crush Maxwell, to tear him limb from limb apart, to bathe his hands on his blood, but the dying light of the fire snapped him right back to the reality.

They didn't get along at first, and they didn't get along for a long long time, but Wilson needed the help to built the portal. And he needed the company. He had Chester of course, his loyal little friend, but even the furry chest couldn't replace the need for human-contact. And Maxwell was there, and the dethroned King actually needed _his_ help to survive, and Maxwell never really asked for forgiveness and had never betrayed him after that.

And after a while Wilson actually had some good time working with Maxwell, when they weren't fighting. Maxwell was clever and he was fun to be around and they worked well together, keeping one another alive and building the portal that ultimately failed completely. But they tried, and after spending some time trying to find a new way out of this place, they found out that the portal did actually work - just not the way they thought. It had brought people here, some of Wilson recognised after surviving with them in one of the previous worlds until one of them died and was send to a new world (Wilson had yet to figure out how that exactly worked), and of course nobody was thrilled to see Maxwell. But Wilson couldn't ditch him, not with the clear conscience, and he did everything he could to let him to stay.

And they did let him stay, and Maxwell was difficult and mean and annoying, but Wilson had grown to like it when he was around. He was glad that Maxwell was around, because when they weren't at each other's throats there was something there, a feeling deep inside him that he had bury away because he was angry and hurt and ashamed, but it was there. 

Maxwell made a slightest movement under his hand that had curled to hold the man, and Wilson perked away from his reminiscence to see black eyes blinking at him, confused.

"Higgsbury." Maxwell called, seemingly just to confirm that Wilson actually was there, or maybe to question why he was there.

"Oh, good. You sleep like a corpse. For a second I actually thought you were one." Wilson tried to joke, and Maxwell just grunted and sat up only to realize that he was naked from the waste up - as was Wilson. A line appeared between his brows.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but it takes a little bit more to kill me than a goodnight sleep. I don't remember coming to sleep in your tent. Why am I here?" He asked, looking around until he spotted his clothes and leaned to draw them closer.

"You were barely even awake after I tended to your wounds so I just let you sleep right here."

"Hmm... yes, I think I remember." Maxwell said with low voice when he struggled to put his shirt back on without hurting the injury the treeguard made. Wilson smiled a little and tried to help Maxwell with the sleeve, but the other man pulled himself away.

"Do you _like_ making everything more difficult for yourself?" Wilson pouted, a little hurt that his help was denied. For someone who couldn't even survive some hounds alone Maxwell sure was quick to run away from aid when he needed it. The man snorted in response and struggled some more, and Wilson couldn't decide if it was more sad or annoying.

"Just let me help, it's not like it would hurt you accept a little assistance. Besides, no one will see it when we are here so you don't need to worry about your big bad reputation getting stained." he muttered and aimed to help him with the shirt again. This time Maxwell gave only a little resistance, and eventually let Wilson get his clothes on. Which was a lot quicker that he could've managed on his own, and Wilson was pleased with winning this one.

"About last night..." Maxwell started, looking the post of the tent while Wilson worked to get his suit jacked on.

"Hm?"

"I was not... feeling very well."

"No kidding."

The line between Maxwell's eyebrows deepened, but he didn't turn to look at Wilson.

"I mean that I was not myself. Must've been the over-use of the shadow puppets and the darkness playing some tricks. Apologies for acting in such a way."

Wilson took his hands away from the suit and rested them on his lap. He knew it wasn't because of that. It may have increased the feeling, what ever it was that Maxwell was feeling at the time, but it didn't cause that.

"You don't need to apologize. You just had a panic attack, there is nothing you need to feel sorry for."

"I did _not_ have a panic attack." Maxwell hissed and turned his face further away to hide form Wilson, who in turn cocked his eyebrow and shifted a little closer.

"Well, whatever it was that had you in such condition, it doesn't need to be apologized for. Actually, I think I should apologize to you, for once. I was worried about you and I over-reacted because of it, and I think I triggered some trauma when I hold you down-"

Suddenly there was a hand on his throat, not quite strangling him, but keeping him in firm grip and pulling him closer to face Maxwell who had a deep crimson on his cheeks and fury in his eyes. Wilson tensed up, his blood running cold from the shock. He immediately started shaking, trying to distance himself from the other man, but the hand around his neck kept him in place.

"You don't know what you're talking about. There is nothing wrong with me and I am perfectly fine, better than I have ever been." Maxwell's voice was almost a growl "It was a one time incident that has never happened before and will never happen again, and it wasn't because something that- something... It's not because I was...because..." Maxwell's grip lightened when he tried to find the right words to use without coming across as weak, and Wilson was able to pull his hand away from his throat and stumble away.

He sat back, rubbing his neck and shaking a bit. He was more surprised than anything. He told himself that he should've been able to expect that to happen, that Maxwell was very short-tempered and had tendency of getting offensive in both verbal and physical sense when he was angry enough, but he still felt like that came out of nowhere. Maxwell hadn't been like that towards him for a long, long time.

Maxwell looked like he was surprised as well, staring at Wilson with expression that was mixture of a fading rage and increasing regret. At least that's what it looked like to Wilson. He took deep breaths and held the hand over his throat, while Maxwell's hands hovered in the air.

"I... I didn't mean to." the magician could only explain, before he lowered his eyes on his own hands, slowly pulling them away from Wilson. That made Wilson calm down a bit, knowing he wasn't getting strangled to death in his own tent. He should've known better than trying to bring up something personal with Maxwell. Maxwell did not do personal. Wilson shook his head, breathing carefully.

"It's... It's ok. I get it." he tried his luck and brought his other hand on Maxwell's own "I don't like to talk about something that hurts me either."

He was afraid he'd set Maxwell's anger off again by implying that he was hurt, but Maxwell just glowered at his hands and nodded. The man seemed to be in his thoughts and allowed Wilson to sneak closer. Unlike Maxwell, Wilson was not one to avoid taking risks. That's how he had survived for many times, and that's what often rewarded him in the end. So that in mind he cautiously and slowly pressed his lips on Maxwell's, and waited for the reaction.

Maxwell didn't move, but he kissed Wilson back, if ever so lightly and carefully. He seemed to contemplate if this was something that Wilson really wanted to do right now, but he didn't refuse when Wilson pushed him on the ground and laid over him.

"Is this ok? I'm not... pressuring you, am I?"

Maxwell shook his head "No. I told you it was just the darkness messing with my head."

Not fully convinced Wilson didn't dare to touch his hands so he could move them if he wanted, and after a while the man brought them on Wilson's back and kept him close. And Wilson felt good to be this close. He liked to feel the lips on his own and to sense the breathing over his skin, but most of all he liked that it was Maxwell. Maxwell who he had liked, feared, hated, and learned to like again. Maxwell who was just as scared and troubled as he was. Maxwell who he didn't know a lot about, but he would find out, in time. He would give it time.

"Am I interrupting?" the shrilling voice came from the entrance and Wilson jumped away, mortified look on his face and pulling the fur over his still bare chest. Wendy was kneeling on the entrance, poking her head inside, not looking even a slightest bit discomforted.

She moved her big eyes on Maxwell.

"Uncle. I'm happy you have lived to die another day. I see mister Wilson found you after all."

"Is there something you want, Wendy? Or is this a new habit of yours to just invade the living space of someone else just for fun?" Maxwell's tepid voice came from where he still laid down. Wendy tilted her head and nodded.

"Oh, yes. Mrs. Wickerbottom wishes to talk to everyone, and she asked me to go ask mister Higgsbury if he knows where Maxwell is. I will tell her that he does, and they will be coming to the firepit shortly." with that her head disappeared behind the fabric and they could hear her light footsteps getting farther. Wilson let the small awkward chuckle escape his lips.

"I don't see anything funny about this, Higgsbury." Maxwell retorted when he stood up and started to straighten his clothes. Wilson grabbed his own shirt, still smirking a little.

"I'm kinda happy that you lived to die another day, too." he smiled at the dark expression on Maxwell's face and followed him out, keeping a small respectful distance, just in case.


	11. The odds are not in your favour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson is forced to face his trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Minor suicidal thoughts in this chapter.

The nights were getting longer and colder day by day. There was no denying that they needed to concentrate on preparing themselves to the hardships that came with the coldest of the seasons, and already the chilling nights were getting to them. Willow almost slept in the firepit, and Wilson felt so sorry for her poor resistance of the cold. Maxwell also seemed to suffer from it, probably because of his thin figure. There was hardly any fat covering his bones so no wonder they got cold fast. Then there was Wendy who was small and skinny and got cold much faster than the adults, but didn't like to let them know about it.

"If it's the freeze that shall take me, so be it." was her opinion on the matter.

Wickerbottom was old, but against any odds she didn't seem to be so bothered of the harsh winds. Webber was fine, so were Wolfgang and Wigfrid.

But the freezing nights got to them nonetheless, and rearrangements were made. It was not uncommon to sleep close to one another in winters, they all seemed to have done it at least once in the past - all except Maxwell. No, of course he hadn't, this was his first winter away from the throne. When Wickerbottom had announced that she thought that sharing a tent with a pal would be the best for their survival, there had been some objections. Willow valued her privacy, even though she seemed very open in every sense of the word, she still liked her me-time and protested that the only company she needed was Bernie. Maxwell was also against the whole thing because he was Maxwell, and for once they seemed to agree on something, even if it was for completely different reasons. Wendy told everyone that if she happened to die at night, she didn't want to traumatize anyone. This was not a real complaint, but she apparently felt the need to bring up this point anyway.

Wolfgang was only glad that he got someone to sleep next to him, it was apparently comforting to him, and Wigfrid didn't have anything against a partner either. Webber was excited because everyone was their friend and they couldn't wait to have a tent buddy. Wickerbottom of course was okay with this, she had came up with the idea, or at least was the first one to propose it.

And Wilson, Wilson was just relieved that he didn't have to sleep alone. He despised it nowadays, it made him anxious and he had such a hard time falling asleep and when he did, he often woke up from nightmares and spent the rest of the night in uncomfortable darkness and silence. He slept a little bit better when Maxwell send one of his shadows to keep him company and comfort him, but he couldn't do that every night, sometimes he was too tired or running too low on nightmare fuel.

"Enough!" Wickerbottom's voice echoed throughout the camp where people were bickering and arguing about the matter. Everyone fell silent. Wickerbottom adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat.

"Now, it will only have to last over the winter. When the weather gets warm enough again, you can sleep where ever you wish. We do not want anyone getting flue or fever from cold weather. It will be a problem for all of us, and weaken our strength as a group. Now, can you pick a partner, or do I decide them for you?" She scoped around them over her glasses. The silence continued, until Webber rose their hand.

"Yes, my sweet boy, what is it?" a smile emerged to the old woman's lips.

"Can we sleep together with all our friends?"

"That is a nice idea, Webber. But I'm afraid these tents can hold only two to three people at once, so how about you start with one."

Webber seemed defeated and sad, but nodded in understanding and started pondering who would be funniest one to share a tent with.

Wilson gave a hopeful glance at Maxwell from the corner of his eye, but the tall man didn't notice him, or if he did, he did a good job hiding it. Wilson didn't know if it was wise to ask directly from Maxwell. The one time he slept next to the man had been the best sleep he had gotten in what felt like eons, but he was afraid that Maxwell would feel overwhelmed by the crowd around him and say no if he asked to partner up with him. 

He didn't have to, because Willow spoke next.

"Fine! Then I guess I'll go with Wilson. At least he doesn't snore or kick in his sleep."

Wilson turned to look at her, smiling faintly, trying his best to appear as if he had wanted this too. But he didn't, he wanted to share a tent with Maxwell. He had shared a tent with Willow few times in the past, It was not the matter of if he liked the woman or not, of course he did, but right now he swore he could just scream at her face.

He could also just say no, I want to share a tent with someone else, but that could only be followed by asking who, and he'd had to answer 'Maxwell', and it would rise questions of why on earth did he want to do that. Wilson had just kind of hoped that they would toss Maxwell over to him, because he was the only one who didn't want to murder Maxwell in his sleep. No matter how much they told it as a joke, it was still clear as a day that none of them were really fond of the idea of sleeping next to the ex-King.

Wickerbottom volunteered to share tent with Wolfgang which everyone agreed to be for the best. Wolfgang was afraid of the dark and when a man with the strength of a lion starts having a tantrum in the middle of the night, you don't want to be in the way. Wickerbottom had somewhat more success calming the strongman down than the others, and since she didn't need much sleep anyway, it was easy to assure the cowardly man that she would keep a watch throughout the night.

Webber ran to hold Wendy by her hand and jumped up and down in excitement.

"Between you, me and Abby, that makes three. She likes you, so it's ok I guess." Wendy nodded in acceptance.

Wigfrid turned her head slowly towards Maxwell, and Wilson realized he did the same. The magician examined his fingers through gloves and acted as if he didn't notice he was being stared down.

"Great. Sö it leaves me with yöu."

"I think I'll manage just fine by myself, thank you very much." was the short, proud answer. Wilson screamed internally. Maxwell was proud, but even _he_ couldn't be stupid enough to freeze voluntarily. Except that he apparently was.

Wigfrid frowned, then shrugged and whipped her red braid over her shoulder in indifferent manner.

"Suit yöurself, I can fit myself in just fine with sömeöne else."

"Now now, don't be like that. I'm sure Maxwell will come around" Wickerbottom said calmly and glanced at Maxwell, and Wilson could've sworn he actually saw Maxwell getting a little uncomfortable "He can be... handful sometimes, but in the end, he is better than nothing."

Maxwell sneered and turned to walk away.

"Where are you going now?" Wilson yelled after him. Maxwell didn't stop nor did he answer. Wilson felt something squeeze his heart a little "Great, I think you hurt his feelings." he muttered more to himself, but very aware that everyone could hear him, apart from Maxwell who had disappeared behind the treeline.

"I think he is being över-sensitive. But if he really wants the tent, I guess I have tö share. Freezing tö death is nöt a death fitting för a warriör, after all." Wigfrid shrugged again, a little less proudly this time. Wilson sighed and ruffled his hair.

"Would it really kill you to be a little nicer to him?" he asked, almost sadly. It didn't sit right with him that the others were always against Maxwell. Even if it had been reasonable in the past, it had been months after they became a group. And sure Maxwell was handful and he didn't do himself any favors by being rude and difficult on purpose, but Wilson knew that he actually did try. And yes, he also lost his temper around the man sometimes, but it was different. He didn't actually hate Maxwell anymore.

"Nö, but maybe he wöuld." Wigfrid took her spear and sat down to sharpen it "I remember when we battled the höunds tögether in late spring. He pushed me ön their way ön purpöse, that cöward!" she made one especially sharp movement with the rock she used to care her spear with.

"My uncle has been ruthless in the past, it's true. It stings in very special way to be decieved by your own blood." Wendy added to that, though still keeping her face blank as always.

"Well, I must admit that even thought I enjoy our little conversations at nights and he can be surprisingly well-mannered, he does seem to care very little for his fellow men." Wickerbottom sounded less hostile than Wigfrid, but she had a stern expression on her face as well. She was clearly not happy with Maxwell and she had always been strict with her policy about getting along and looking out for each other. It was almost a miracle that Maxwell had been able to stay even this long with the group.

"We... We think mister Maxwell is nice." Webber squeaked timidly, very uncomfortable and standing back. The spider child didn't like fighting and always tried to calm things down.

Wilson's neck was getting hot and he frowned deeply. He, too, was getting uncomfortable.

"Phah! He is not nice. He is always making fun of others and he isn't even sorry for the things he has done." Willow joined the conversation that was slowly turning into a witch-hunt "He acts as if he owns everything and as if he is better than the rest of us. I wouldn't be surprised if he stabbed us in the back and returned to the throne, it sure looks like he never even left."

Wilson closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Wickerbotton clicked her tongue sharply.

"Now that is a little hasty, Willow. He can be a little arrogant and stubborn but I'm sure he will adjust in time. Now, enough with the chit-chat, we have lot of work to do and hardly any time to do it, so let's not waste it any longer and get on with it."

If they only gave him enough time, Wilson thought. He didn't like hearing all these allegations about Maxwell, although some of them were true. He tried to calm down by reminding himself that all of those things were in the past, thought not very far in the past... But, past altogether. No use to hang onto something that was already done.

"...And Webber, we need some silk, you go to the..."

But Maxwell kind of _did_ continue doing things that let them all down. Wilson absentmindedly let his hand rise to his throat. Maxwell wasn't being very trustworthy. Wilson really wanted, _hoped_ that he wasn't being a fool to put his trust into Maxwell, but he couldn't fight the fear that he was.

"...Wigfrid and Wolfgang can handle the situation with beefalo wool and..."

Wilson feared that Willow was right, that Maxwell was just using him as a shield to get away with the things that he did. But he wasn't like that anymore, Wilson had seen that he wasn't...

"...Wilson can be a dear and go to fetch some reeds..."

Maxwell had changed, he was someone else now, someone that Wilson, against his better judgement, trusted and someone he liked very much and-

Wilson's head shot up and he felt everything freeze around for a second.

"W-what?"

"You go fetch us some reeds, do try to pay more attention, please. We are running really low on the supplies" Wickerbottom explained, not bothering to look up to the young man from the list she was holding in her hands. Wilson felt the cold shiver run through his spine and he clenched his hands into fists, his pupils constricting. No, no, nononono... _No_ , he didn't want to go in _there_. He could do anything else than go there.

"W-why do I have to go?" He tried not to sound desperate.

"Because I said so."

"What about Willow? Or, or Maxwell?" Wilson bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself calm, or at the very least not to show his fear.

"Willow is going with the children, and unless Maxwell decides to show up right this instant, I'm afraid it falls on your shoulders. It's not that far, you should be done in no time." the librarian still didn't rise her eyes from the paper she kept listing things on.

Wilson could feel the heartbeat in his ears. Oh no, no, he couldn't do it. But he had to, he needed to be helpful and useful... but he couldn't go there, not yet, not alone, not without preparing himself for it... Or... Or he could tell them right now.

Wilson stared at the old librarian, his lip trembling softly. Wickerbottom would understand. She would never sent him there if she knew.

Wilson opened his mouth.

And then he closed it.

He couldn't tell. It was too terrible. Too shameful. Too dehumanizing and indignifying. He didn't want to be looked down with pity and concern like he was a scared little kid. He didn't want to be the weak link that slowed down the whole group and he sure as hell didn't want them to know how small and helpless and humiliated he felt. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to _talk_ about it, it only brought the memories alive and that was the one thing he didn't want to do the most, to relive the horrible thing all over again.

So he hung his head and with trembling hands took his backpack and Chester for support, even thought the little thing couldn't help him, it allowed some comfort with it's company. Wilson hated every step he took forward and prayed that he would run into Maxwell on his way so he could at least have someone who understood and could save him from going to the terrible horrible swamp where bad things happened and some part of him suffered and died. But he had to go. He knew he had to.

After all, the nights were getting longer and colder day by day, and if they needed the reeds, he just had to do what he did best: Bite down his fear and force his way through yet another thing that would eat away a part of the man he had once been.

He wondered how many parts he had lost along the way. Too many to count. Too many to remember. Too many. A way, way too many.

\---

He did not cross paths with Maxwell on his way to the swamp. Nor did he cross paths with anyone else. He was sure he already knew the worst case of being all alone and helpless, but somehow, something always managed to overwrite it by making him feel even more alone and helpless.

Wilson stood right at the edge of the swamp. He stood there and demanded his feet to move forward, but his feet disobeyed him, the deceitful useless limbs, and kept him standing there like a scare-crow. Well, at least his feet knew what he wanted. But his mind knew what he needed, and he needed to do his share of the chores to prepare for the winter. He couldn't let them down. Wilson P. Higgsbury never let his friends down.

Wilson took a deep breath. And another. And another. And he told himself after every breath that this was it, he was gonna do it, okay after the next one, okay maybe he just counted to ten and moved after that. Count to ten. Count to twenty. Thirty. Forty. Move, walk.

And he didn't. He couldn't.

He had to collect the reeds. Just like he was collecting them the last time. The last time when things went horribly wrong.

Wilson sat down and dug his fingers on his messy hair, the tears burning in his eyes. Why was he like this? Why couldn't he just force away the hurt and the need to cry and scream and run away? He wished he was better, that he was stronger and could handle this like a man. A sorry excuse for a man, that's what he was. Useless and pitiful. Pathetic.

Wilson winced at the memory of the claws scratching his skin and the lustful breaths echoing in his ears. He couldn't do this. He was too scared, too alone. He needed his anchor. Maxwell was his anchor, and he couldn't do this without him, he couldn't face that place and pretend that it was ok because it wasn't ok and he wasn't ok either.

Chester poked it's head on his leg, and Wilson shot his teary eyes up, and with shaky hands lifted the eyeless creature to his lap, burying his face on the orange fur. It was comforting enough for Wilson to release a quiet sob on his loyal little friend as he started to rock himself slowly. He couldn't do it. He already knew it, he knew it from the moment he started walking here. He tried to force himself to do it, but he just couldn't, not now, now for a long time, maybe not ever. The only thing he could think about was that at one moment he was stuffing reeds on his backpack and the next something hit against his head, and he could faintly understand that he was being dragged somewhere. And the rest he didn't want to think about.

He couldn't do this, he didn't want to lean on the ground and pick the reeds and leave himself vulnerable and easy target and he knew it could happen again, if it happened once it could always happen again, and if it did, he couldn't live with it. And the worst thing was that he couldn't die with it either, because he would just wake up someplace else, alone, where everything was new and strange, where he didn't have his friends and he didn't have shelter and he had to learn everything again. But he would still remember. And he knew he couldn't survive that.

Wilson wiped his wet face on Chester, and the living chest didn't seem to mind. It drooled on his arms and snuggled him, and Wilson pushed his face as close as he could, sobbing and trembling. He felt safer like this, hiding his face inside Chester's dirty furcoat.

Chester was comfortable. Chester was loyal. Chester was someone who had never ever wronged him, and Chester was always there for him. Who cares if the orange furball followed the eyebone, at least he loved the one who had the bone. Thought, Wilson smiled through his tears, sometimes Chester seemed to obey him even when someone else was holding the eyebone. Yeah, Chester was always there for him. Chester was a good friend.

After what felt like hours, Wilson's silent cries had died down and he lifted his face up, placing his chin on top of Chester. He watched the gloomy, wet, horrendous place before him, only a few steps away. At least the merm village was out of his field of vision. He didn't know if he was okay to see it, even from far away. Probably not. He wondered if he could ever set a foot on the marsh area again, if he could ever go close to the village, if he could even see another merm without getting sick to his stomach.

Wilson bit his lip. Was he ever going to be okay again? No, he didn't think he would. That had been thrown out of the window too many deaths and injuries ago, and the latest traumatic incident was just the cherry on top, the final straw.

But maybe, as long as he had Maxwell and his friends, he could manage and adapt. Maybe he could learn to live with things. Someday it might get easier. It was always possible, to find a new way to survive and new way to cope. In a place like this he didn't really have a choice anyway. It didn't matter if he gave up, if let himself die or straight up killed himself, because like he had already understood, he would just emerge again in a new world, but in the same old hell. There was no escape, he only had one choice in his hands: To make the most of his time when he could, and try his best. And maybe one day he would get out, get back home, and then he could start being broken and miserable and suffer if he still felt like it.

A shuddering breath left his mouth as he let himself think things over. He was scared to be here alone, but Chester on his lap soothed his mind, and he had calmed down after the realization had set in that he was not going to set a foot in the swamp.

He wasn't afraid to take the risks, but this was one risk he couldn't force himself to take. He had made stupid decisions in the past that had lead to lot of regret and suffering and sometimes death, but he had to put his foot down and draw the line somewhere. This was his limit. Here was his line.

Wilson had to just explain this to the others somehow. Maybe he could tell about this to Maxwell. Maybe Maxwell could help him to come up with a good reason, and someone else would be sent to get the damn reeds the next day. If he didn't come up with anything, he just had to be honest. He would give up and tell Willow. The firestarter wouldn't mock him and she would make sure that nobody else did either, but she could still keep the thing secret, right? Wilson picked the tangles out of Chester's fur as he let his mind wander.

He could trust Willow. He could trust all of them, but he was not ready to tell them. He didn't lie when he told Maxwell that he didn't like to talk about hurtful things either. He liked to keep them to himself. It was a certain type of power, he supposed. To handle things without letting others know about them. It made him feel like he had some control over something. Something that no one else could touch, something that only he knew about, a secret, a weapon, a steering wheel that he could direct the way he liked and no one could take that away from him.

Wilson supposed that he felt a little bit similar when he was with Maxwell. He felt like he had a little control over the situation. Because... because no one else could have it, because it was a secret, because he knew he could trust Maxwell. It was their secret and no one could take it away from them, and he knew he could have it, if he wanted to, because Maxwell was there for him and he _trusted_ Maxwell, and he knew it was the truth.

Wilson licked his lips. He didn't like how doubtful his mind had become. He trusted Maxwell, but something inside him reminded him that he shouldn't. He liked being around Maxwell, but maybe there was something in the fact that nobody else did. His fears fought with his hopes, and his reason was stuck in the middle. A real crossfire in his mind, that's what he needed right now. Like a fist in the eye.

Wilson let his eyes wander around the empty place. He didn't need to think about that now. He should concentrate on what to tell the others when he would show up without any reeds. He had a whole day to figure that out.

"What do you say, Chester? Should we start the brainstorm?"

Chester yipped and drooled all over his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Chestieee, you are the bestieeee~


	12. Beginning of the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell has a fight with Willow with less than favorable results.

Maxwell wasn't going to just stand around and let them trash-talk him when he was _right there_. It wasn't exactly the most flattering thing to hear that you were a little better than nothing. Just above the absolute nothing. Great. Maxwell couldn't blame them, but he really wanted to. Oh how he wished that there was someone else to blame. If, for once, there would be someone else to point his finger at, he would've taken that moment and cherished it for the eternity. But he knew he could only blame himself, and he could only except the others to blame him too. He was apparently nothing but a scapegoat now. Sure, blame it all on Maxwell, isn't it easy to feel superior when there is literally the world's easiest target standing next to you.

Maxwell hated that he knew they were right. He had to give in and return and sleep next to that insufferable warrior woman. He would have to swallow his pride, because in the end, he needed to survive. And he could try to make things a little bit easier, for once. Why was he always fighting back and making things difficult for himself, anyway? Did he really think that it would serve any purpose at all?

Maxwell stopped right on his tracks and stared at the leaves on the cold hard ground that were slowly dying away with the last days of autumn. He knew why he was behaving like this. It was because he knew he was next to nothing to all of them. It was because if he showed them any weakness, they would use it against him. And he wouldn't just stand there and take it, he would put up a little fight before they demoted him even lower than nothing. And why shouldn't he be like this? It's what they expected anyway. Why shouldn't he give them something they so badly wanted to see?

He stood there for a while, watching the dying nature, and almost wanted to just keep walking and never go back to the place where they all hated him. He almost wanted that. But no, instead he let out a heavy sigh and turned around. Of course he had to go back. Where did he even think he was going to go? There was nothing for him out there. Not that there was anything for him in the camp either, but there was at least shelter and food and light.

Maxwell was not surprised that everyone else had already left. Even the kids were away. The camp loomed empty and cold, eerily quiet as if it was abandoned. The tall man walked to take something out of the icebox and sat down to eat and waited. He didn't know what he exactly was waiting for, but he didn't have anything else to do. He was not going to be nice today and do something nice to the people who had done nothing to deserve it.

Hah, let those idiots hope that he would've brought them wood or gold or something that they always whined him to bring, they were not worthy of his nice gestures today. Besides, these were the rare occasions when he was the only one at the base, and he wanted to take the little peace and quiet when he could.

Maxwell gladly spend the day doing absolutely nothing, except for eating, going through the chests and reading Codex. He had just the time of his life, why did he even think he needed anyone else!

Eventually the dusk fell and after spending most of it starting the fire and making himself comfortable next to it, the others started to return. Maxwell was not glad to see them. Not at all. He was still angry at them, every single one of them.

"Good evening uncle." Wendy was the first to greet him, nodding at him when she knelt over the chest and started to stuff it with spider glands and silk and supplies they had picked along the way. Webber followed right at her foot steps and gave Maxwell a big, toothy grin.

"Hi mister Maxwell!" Webber waved their hairy claw at him. Maxwell gave the children a lopsided smile. Well, maybe he wasn't angry at them. He didn't particularly like children all that much in general, but seeing as they were the only ones who actually were at least treating him like a person, he couldn't find it in him to dislike them either. At least not as much as he disliked the others.

"Oh, you're back. I guess it would be too much to hope that you did something worthwhile while we were working our asses off to get what we need?" Willow deadpanned and glowered at him. Maxwell made a fakest sad pout he could manage and stared at the woman straight in the eye.

"Oh? Was I supposed to? I'm _sorry_ , I must've missed it." He scoffed and turned to watch the treeline that was bathing in the reddish glow of the setting sun.

He knew why the arsonist was holding such a great grudge against him. It was because of Wilson. He knew the two of them had something special (and that was also one reason he found the woman absolutely intolerable), and Willow had never quite forgiven him for what he did to Wilson. It was true that he had enjoyed playing with the scientist much more than the rest of them, and perhaps it was exactly because Wilson had decided to take the high road and be civil about it that made Willow take the extra vengeful road instead. And maybe she was right to hold Maxwell responsible and remind him of what he had done, but that didn't mean that he had to like it.

"Yeah, you did. Honestly, I wonder why Wilson even bothers with you." The young woman hissed between clenched teeth. Maxwell laughed.

"That's his problem, if he is dumb enough to trust me. Really, miss Willow, let the grown man make his own mistakes, hm?" he turned to smirk at her, only because he knew it would rub her the wrong way.

"You...!"

Maxwell stood up to welcome the old librarian back instead of letting Willow's screeching get to him, and helped the woman to get the sticks and grass to their own places just so he could have something else to do than bicker with the pyromaniac.

"Thank you dear." the old lady commended him and Maxwell felt a small sting in his chest for being so angry at her too. Wickerbottom hadn't been completely awful to him either, not all the time. She scolded him a lot and complained when he was slacking off, but she didn't exactly belittle him. Which he had to be the smallest bit grateful for, even if he didn't say it out loud.

"Say, were are the others?" Maxwell asked impassively. He wanted, or rather needed, to make some sort of peace with the viking if he wanted to wake up in one piece the next morning.

"Wilson's at the swamp, Wolfgang and Wigfrid are-"

Suddenly the old woman was clutched between the sharp claws when Maxwell dug his hands on her arms, gritting his teeth at her.

"What? Why is Higgsbury there alone?!" He couldn't maintain his worry, and he knew he came across as furious and rude rather than just concerned. Wickerbottom cringed under his claws, it probably hurt her. Maxwell didn't care. He felt his heart start banging. Oh no, no, what if something bad happened to Wilson while he was out there alone? What if he panicked and did something stupid, that sounded like something he would do! What if he got hurt, what if he was scared!

"Hey! Get off of her you jerk!" Willow pried his hands forcefully away from Wickerbottom who seemed a little alarmed, taking a step back. Maxwell turned to glare at Willow, who gave him the same treatment.

"You have no idea what-" Maxwell stopped himself, biting his teeth together. He promised not to tell anyone. Instead he snarled, frustrated more than anything "Forget it! Get out of my way, I'm going to look for him before that absolute idiot gets hurt!"

Maxwell couldn't take a step before Willow sprinted in front of him, crossing her arms tightly.

"Gets hurt?! Of course he could get hurt! You designed this place to hurt people! Has it ever crossed your mind that every time he gets hurt, it's because of you?" the firestarter stabbed her finger at his chest, making Maxwell fall silent and flinch back.

"You created everything horrible in this world! Every hound attack, and spider, and tentacle and werepig and killer bee is here because you created them! So don't even pretend that none of this is you fault! Every time Wilson had already gotten hurt, it's your fault! Don't you _dare_ to blame us for it!"

If Maxwell wasn't so taken aback by her words, he could've pointed out that he didn't create _everything_ in here so she wasn't at least right all the way... but it still got to him. He did create most of the horrors in here. He felt something tightening inside his chest. Sure, maybe it was his fault. Maybe he was still hurting people, even if not directly.

"...It's his own damn fault if he goes and gets hurt." the magician retorted. He didn't really blame Wilson, of course he didn't, but he didn't want to just stand there and be blamed for everything either, not when he had better things to do. Better things like finding Wilson and making sure he was okay.

"How many times does he have to suffer because of you!? Do you really even care, or do you just want to find him so you could mess with his head some more, huh?!?" Willow's accusations weren't out of reach, no matter how untrue he wanted to believe them to be, and it made Maxwell grow angrier by the second.

"Well, so what if I am just messing with his head? What are you gonna do about it, firestarter? Burn the base down? Hug your Teddy bear and cry in the corner? My business with Higgsbury doesn't concern you, so let it go." He sneered hostilely.

Willow glared at him under her eyebrows, looking almost as hostile as the man.

"You have no business with him. I think you have hurt him enough for a couple hundred lifetimes, mister puppet master. He is _not_ your puppet to play with." 

Maxwell could feel the shadows inside him pulse with the intense need to hurt Willow. So what if she knew Wilson better and knew how he felt about some thing? She didn't know everything about him, and there were things that were not her business to mess with. He gritted his teeth and took a breath, and pushed Willow away from him, face growing only darker.

"As I said, _get out of my way_ " he growled and started making his way towards the swamp. It didn't matter. He just had to live with the consequences of his actions. He just had to make sure that Wilson was fine, and then he would be fine too.

"Hey! Hey, get back here! I'm not done with you!" he could hear Willow's voice rise to the scream of anger, but he couldn't have cared less. 

\---

Wilson was standing over his little scribbles and tapping his foot on the ground. Chester panted next to him, watching him walk in circles and occasionally stop to add something to his writing, then mumble out of the side of his mouth and continue walking. The living chest didn't understand what was going on, but it was happy that it was included anyway. 

Wilson stopped to read his unclear words on the dry mud. He had tried to make a list out of the things he could use as an excuse to explain why he hadn't even gone to the swamp.

The easiest one was that he had been attacked and had to change his plans. But, sadly, it was also easily debunked. A battle always left marks, and even if he claimed he had managed to escape without any damage, it was not only highly implausible but there wasn't much he could've run away from. There were no killer bees, frogs or spider nests on the path, and the others could've heard the hounds because of the loud noise they made. He had tried to come up with a believable monster to use as an excuse, but everything just sounded plain wrong and he scratched that idea out very quickly.

Well, the second best he could come up with was that he had gotten lost. Also very suspicious, and it didn't only sound fake but made him also look like a moron. Who on earth would get lost when there was a clear road to follow?

He could've also blamed hunger, said that he needed to go search for food, but everyone could clearly see that he was not very starved at the moment. Wilson scratched the back of his head and gave sigh through his nose. Welp, every excuse was just so much worse than the last. There was no denying that he was, without any doubt, a terrible, terrible liar.

It was getting late. Wilson kicked his scribbles away and petted Chester on top of it's head "Come on boy, we're better get moving lest we get stuck in here after dark."

Even the idea send shivers down his spine and he refused to think about it. The scientist shook his head and headed back to the camp. He could think about what to say on his way, and hopefully he would run into Maxwell and if not, he just had to come clean to Willow.

\---

Wilson did run into Maxwell after all.

But he also run into Willow and Wickerbottom, and it wasn't something he had waited or wanted to see when he came back. Maxwell and Willow were practically tearing each other apart, Wickerbottom trying to separate the two and yelling them to stop.

"You bastard, I'm gonna make you regret that you were ever even born!" He could hear Willow cursing as she ripped the magician's jacked and tried to land a punch somewhere there. Maxwell had hard time keeping her away, but he was smirking all the way.

"Bold words. Isn't that what your parents said when they dropped you at the orphanage?"

Willow's face got redder than her shirt and the woman looked like she was just about to burst into flames from the fury.

Wilson dropped his bag and hurried over.

"What's happening? What's going on here?" He demanded, grabbing Willow under her armpits to keep her from attacking Maxwell. Willow was like a wild cat, hissing and trying to scratch and when she felt Wilson dragging her away she started kicking the air.

Maxwell huffed and stumbled backwards, Wickerbottom clenching his arms and pulling him away. Maxwell looked like he had already gotten quite the beating, and Willow wasn't far from the mess either. Her hair was all over the place and she had a thick, red line running down from her nose. Maxwell glared at her, until his eyes focused on the scientist behind the crazed young woman and his expression lightened noticeably. He opened his mouth, a moment of silence before he managed to speak.

"You're okay... Oh. Well. That's... a relief." He mumbled, yanking his arms away from the librarian and straightening his ruffled suit.

"Um... Yes, I am. What's going on here? Why are you attacking Willow?"

Maxwell looked angry, offended even "ME?! She's the one who started this whole thing!"

Wilson and Wickerbottom exchanged looks, only accidentally giving Willow a chance to break free. Maxwell flinched back but fortunately for him, Willow wasn't coming at him, but instead turned to stare at Wilson with furiously burning eyes.

"See?! He attacked me! I told you we couldn't trust him! How long does it take you to realize that he is just using you!" Willow spat spitefully and licked the puddle of blood that had built up on her upper lip. Wilson opened his mouth, then turned to look at the older woman.

"I'm afraid Maxwell did punch her. And well, things escalated from there." The old woman confessed, looking rather displeased with the whole ordeal.

"She grabbed my arm!"

"You leave Wilson alone!"

Wilson was still not sure what was happening, and the young man felt the headache forming in his brain. He already had had a rough day, he was not in the right state of mind to deal with this right now. He rose his hands in the air in calming manner "Okay, okay. What exactly happened here?" He wasn't going to just blame Maxwell, although he was a little worried about the blood that had started to dry on Willow's face.

"It's not important!" Maxwell announced loudly "Just keep that bitch off of me!"

Willow answered him by pulling her lighter out and clicking the small flame on sight "Try me, old man."

"Maxwell, don't talk to her like that!" Wilson scolded, placing his hands on Willow's shoulders, partly protectively, partly to prevent her from making a surprise attack at Maxwell. Maxwell glowered at the gesture and turned his head away with an arrogant sniff.

"I've had enough! We are making decisions right here, right now!" Willow huffed out with enraged voice, looking at them all one after the other. Maxwell was stubbornly staring at the distance, Wickerbottom had her lips on tight line as she kept an eye on the situation, and Wilson felt mostly confused and disturbed.

"No more sneaking about and mind-games. Why don't you tell Wilson what you think about him, Maxwell? Why don't you say to _him_ what you said to _me_? What was it again?" the raven haired woman tapped her chin as if thinking "Ohhh right! He is dumb enough to trust you, and we should let him make his mistakes? That it's his own fault that he is 'an absolute idiot' and keeps getting hurt in the world that you created, full of creatures that you created? That it's not my business if you keep playing with his head?"

Wilson felt his mouth drying up. Why would Maxwell say that? Well, that sounded like something that Maxwell could say, at least the old Maxwell... But he didn't really think that, right? He wasn't really playing with his head, was he? He couldn't be, why would he be so kind to him if he... No, no, Maxwell had changed.

Wilson let his hands drop down from Willow's shoulders when he stepped closer to Maxwell.

"...Maxwell? You... You didn't... really say that about me, right?"

Maxwell tugged his hands inside his armpits and rose his shoulders up. He didn't turn to look at Wilson. The shorter man swallowed and bit his lip.

"Answer me, Maxwell."

Maxwell shot his eyes at him. Wilson tried to see through him again. He tried to find that malicious intent and lies and hidden motives, but Maxwell put on his pokerface that he couldn't see through.

"I might have said something like that. But the arsonist it taking it wildly out of context."

"You're not, really thinking that, right? You're not using me, right?... Right?" There was a real fear, a real doubt that he failed to hide from his voice.

Maxwell's forehead wrinkled when his brows drew together. Then he flashed him an annoyed grin.

"If you really trusted me, _dear old pal_ , should you even be asking that?" he purred, making a face that was somewhere between sweet and sly. Wilson felt his insides twist. No, Maxwell had changed. Wilson trusted him. He... He knew Maxwell had changed, he had seen it when they were... when they...

Wilson's eyes widened and the small insecure smile creeped on his face when he reached to take Maxwell's hand.

"You... You weren't just playing me so you could... use me for your own pleasure, right?" Wilson swallowed. No, Maxwell wouldn't have done something like that. Maxwell couldn't have tricked him into having sex with him, he couldn't have, he... But he had offered it. He had offered it to him when Wilson was weak and scared and when his sanity was low as the ground. Maxwell had preyed on him when he was vulnerable. And Wilson had just made it easier, hadn't he? He insisted that they kept the secret together that was tearing him apart inside, and Maxwell knew he was the _only one_ Wilson could've turned to.

Maxwell yanked his hand away before Wilson could take it, and instead put his finger under Wilson's chin to lift his gaze up. There was that quick flash again, something in his eyes that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and then there was just the same old Maxwell. The black indifferent eyes and sardonic grin, looking down on him.

"Use that pretty head of yours for a change and _think_ , would you?"

And just like that the old hatred swallowed every little good feeling and warm thought he ever held for Maxwell. Wilson felt the old seeds grow inside him again, but instead of being just prickly vines they felt like barbed wire. The hurt, the complete torture of the fact that he had been a fool again crushed his insides. And apparently, everyone else had seen it coming but him. Wilson's eyes narrowed and his face twisted into a snarl.

"You... I can't believe that I actually let you get into my head again. You are unbelievable..." Wilson had to tense his jaw to keep himself from letting out a whimper. He was hurt. He had let himself to actually fell for someone as horrible as Maxwell. He felt like the biggest joke in the world.

"You used me for you own pleasure, and you made me apologize for your sake and make excuses for you! I actually _defended_ you while you were just pulling the strings and playing with me! I can't believe I ever let myself even entertain the idea that you were somehow different now, that there could be even an ounce of humanity left in you! Of course there is not, how could there be something inside of something like you! You are the worst, the most disgusting, rotten through and through, irredeemable, heartless monster, and I _hate_ that I ever had the displeasure of meeting you!" 

Wilson was shaking. He could distantly feel Wickerbottom put her hand on his shoulder, but Wilson couldn't concentrate to anything else than Maxwell. The man had the audacity to have a look of regret on his face! Ha! As if Wilson would fall for that again! No, not ever again!

"I Really tried. I tried to give you a chance to be better, but there is nothing in you to save. I don't understand why I even wanted you to stay! I even thought for a couple of times that we could have the slightest bit of good time with you around, but obviously you don't deserve to be part of this group!"

Maxwell let out the wry chuckle that managed to sound almost pitiful.

"Part of that group? Wake up, Higgsbury! What do you think is going to happen to this little group of yours? Do you think you can just live happily ever after? To have a family and children, live your golden old days in peace? How long are you idiots gonna play pretend while the whole world is against you? Keep playing house all you want, that is not gonna end up like in fairy tales! It's every man for himself, it's always been, and you're just fooling yourselves."

Wilson's knuckles were as white as sheet, and he tasted the blood in his mouth when he bit the inside of his lip.

"Why don't you just get the fuck out of here then? Nobody even wants you here, nobody wanted you here in the first place! We were just trying to be decent human beings, but if it's not good enough for His Majesty, then go ahead, nobody will miss you!" Wilson felt the pain in his throat as he yelled, turning away and walking to his backpack "As far as I'm concerned, you are as good as dead."

He was grateful he had turned his back to the others, because he could feel the tears burn his eyes as he made his way to the camp, Chester jumping on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> du dun duunnn


	13. I'm not going to miss you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson cannot handle being heartbroken, and Maxwell is doing what he does best: avoids his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell. What are you doing. Maxwell. Staph.
> 
> So I wasn't going to post this chapter yet, but it's been kind of a halfway mark for me when I wrote, and so I feel it should wrap up the first half of the fic. And to be honest the second half of this fic wouldn't even exist if Wilson and Maxwell knew how to use their big boy words to communicate.

"Wilson! Wilson, wait!"

He heard Willow calling for him, but he didn't turn nor did he stop. He walked past the firepit and past the science machine, not giving any attention of his surroundings and straight into his tent and leaned down on his fur roll, clutching it in his grip. There was a hard pressure in his throat as he swallowed and he pressed his eyes close, fighting the incoming tears.

He was so stupid.

"...Wilson?"

He heard the opening of the tent flip and felt his friend kneel next to him. He buried his head inside the fur blanket and wished he could just stop feeling. Stop feeling anything at all, he didn't want it, he hated it, _hated it_ , he wanted the feelings to disappear.

It wasn't enough that Maxwell saw him getting violated and humiliated, but then he just used it against him and pretended he cared? It made sense, in some twisted way, that Maxwell really would've played nice to him just so Wilson would do what he wanted. And Wilson actually fell for it.

His heart ached, invisible strings tightening around it, squeezing it till he could almost imagine it bleeding. He just wanted everything to stop.

He had suspected, doubted, he had feared that Maxwell wasn't really nice to him because he saw Wilson as something more than a mere puppet to play with, still, after everything he had done, just a mere pawn on the board. Not as a man, or a friend, not as a...

"I... I didn't know you two were... Is that why... Shit. I'm sorry, Wilson."

Willow sounded truthfully sorry for him. Wilson swallowed, another lump pressing inside his throat, and shook his head. It wasn't Willow's fault that she was right, even thought he hated that she was. He was ashamed of how much he defended Maxwell. He was ashamed that he even decided to keep him around. What on earth made him make that decision? If he had any brain cells left in his head he would have rejected the ex-King as soon as he showed his sorry face to him the first time.

"...It's not your fault." he murmured in the fur where he was hiding. He felt shifting and then Willow's hand on his hair, petting him softly and carefully.

"Yeah, I know. But I feel bad for you. You deserve so much better than this."

Wilson crawled over and placed his head on her lap. He allowed himself to be weak now, because he was too hurt to pretend that he was strong, and if it was Willow, it was fine. He could let himself fall apart, just for this one time. Nobody else could see him this way. But Willow would understand, Willow actually cared about him. She cared when it truly mattered. The said woman continued petting his head, the only thing heard in the tent being Wilson's shaky breaths that he tried to even. He didn't want to cry for Maxwell. Maxwell didn't deserve his tears.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

The petting continued, and Wilson was thankful that Willow didn't press on the matter. He wasn't in the mood of talking about how he felt like an idiot and had throughout ridiculed himself just by falling for someone who already had abused his trust in the past. How stupid he had to be to not realize that Maxwell wouldn't really care about how he felt, care about what had happend to him... He only used it against Wilson, he probably just loved to see him cry and be scared and lost. Man, when was he gonna learn from his mistakes? He had the warning signs and signals layed before his eyes, and what did he do? He looked past them. He looked past them because of some childish, idiotic wish that there would actually be something between them. Of course there wasn't.

But there wasn't much he could do about that now.

He could only try to be wiser in the future. He needed to remember that he shouldn't trust, he shouldn't let anyone to tell him what to do, _he wasn't worthy of being loved_ , he must keep his mind on the things that truly mattered, surviving, making progress, _why did he ever think that Maxwell would care for him_ , making sure he was reliable and strong _when he was nothing but a lonely, failed scientist, a broken man, shutting himself away in his shack in the woods_ , he shouldn't let the feelings come in the way of his reason, and he shouldn't _forget about how good it felt when the voice in the radio told him he did a good job_ , and he should concentrate on the things he needed, the fire, the light, the shelter, _not on the feeling of comfort when he pressed his lips on someone else's_ , he should forget his past, move forward, only forward, don't look back, he should throw away the feelings that tore him apart.

Willow's uncharacteristically calm voice slunk into his ears, pulling him away from his thoughts. Good, he didn't want to sink into that misery any longer anyway.

"He didn't... force you to do anything... did he?" Willow whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer "Because if he did, so help me I'll-"

"No, he... he just fooled me. He didn't make me do anything." He swallowed the bitter taste with much difficulty - of course Maxwell didn't force him, he didn't need to, Wilson was just stupid enough to let the man have him anyway.

"...I... I really don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, ok."

"But there's..." Wilson pressed his eyes tightly close and bit his lip. He need someone. He wasn't going to let Maxwell control him, to control how he thought, he needed new hands to console him and new voice to keep him in right track "... there is one other thing I have to tell you about. But you- you... you have to promise you won't blame me."

"I'm all ears."

\---

It was hours later, only a few moments before dark, maybe even a little bit too close for comfort, when Maxwell returned back to the camp. He hadn't dared to follow Wickerbottom or Willow when the two hurried after Wilson, but seeing as he had nothing to protect himself with or enough resources to last the whole night, he evidently had to return. He tried to draw it out as long as he could, but it wasn't any easier to walk back even after all the hours passed by.

But he was not going to stay. He put on a face again, a mask, as if he didn't even care what had happened. Like it was just another day to him, a walk in a park. He couldn't let them see how he really felt.

Maxwell crawled over to his tent, paying no mind to the stares he got, to the muttering behind him. One of the three must've told something to the others. He didn't care, he was not going to be here for them to judge much longer, there had been change of plans. He knew he was never wanted here, he had always known, but hearing it out loud was just the push he needed to get going. He didn't have much in his possession, but what he got, he took with him. If he was going to survive alone, which he wasn't prepared for, he needed all the help he could get.

He glanced up to see people turning their heads away, as if he didn't know they were watching him. He saw Wendy sitting by the fire, and a little bit behind her he spotted Wilson and Willow standing by the science machine, holding hands. The cold shiver run through Maxwell and he bit his teeth together. Wilson said something, and Willow tilted her head before she placed her hand lovingly on his cheek. Wilson placed his head on the groove of her neck and closed his eyes. Maxwell forced himself to tear his eyes away before he got sick. He didn't need to see that.

He walked to the chests to get himself enough twigs and flint, and he could feel the stares on the skin of his neck again. He told himself, repeatedly, that he didn't care, he never had, he never would. When he rose his eyes up again, he accidentally made eye-contact with Wickerbottom, who stood at the edge of the camp in her own solitude. Maxwell was ready to answer to her cold eyes with the same amount of coldness, but instead the woman looked at him with calm expression, gesturing her hand at him to come forward. Maxwell frowned and cautiously walked over.

"So, I take it that you're leaving?" the librarian asked, rising her brow. Maxwell's frown deepened.

"I got the message that I am not particularly wanted here."

Wickerbottom sighed.

"I'm not stupid, Maxwell. I don't know what exactly is happening between you and Mr. Higgsbury, but you aren't helping by running away from it. I know you care, even though you work really hard to hide it."

It was Maxwell's time to sigh.

"It's better this way. It was really only a matter of time. My only regret is that I couldn't prolong this over winter so it would've been easier to take advantage of you while I can."

Wickerbottom smiled knowingly.

"You don't sound like you're even convincing yourself, mr. Carter."

Maxwell glowered at her. She just turned to take a small package beside her and offered it over to the tall man.

"Why don't you take these with you, dear. The winter might be harsh."

Maxwell eyed between her and the small bundle of supplies on her hands for a while before snatching it away and stuffing it in his backpack "You're wasting your resources. But I suppose I should thank you for this."

"You're welcome." she nodded, paused, and then let out another, much heavier sigh "You didn't have to let him think all that if it's not true, you know."

Maxwell looked at his feet. What did it even matter? Nothing. It didn't matter to him, not in the slightest. He rose his head and gazed over his shoulder to the other end of the camp, where, as on cue, as if to add insult to the injury, Willow planted a small kiss on Wilson's lip, and Maxwell quickly turned his head away, feeling something twist inside. Well, that didn't take for long. _Good_. He was just _glad_ that he was so easily disposable. He didn't care.

"I think Higgsbury can do whatever the hell he wants. He is not my problem anymore."

He lighted the torch for himself, nodded a goodbye for the old woman, and walked into the darkness without looking back. This was better. Better for everyone. Maxwell didn't care where he was going to go, as long as it was as far away from the group as possible. Away from Wilson.

He didn't pay mind to the light of the camp that was getting smaller and smaller behind him, or the chatter that echoed from people he wouldn't miss, and he didn't notice the hissing in the darkness and the faint smell of roses following behind him.

\---

"That was no better?" Willow asked, puckering her lips and tilting her head. Wilson sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"No, I don't think it's working. It just feels wrong. I mean, you're my friend!"

Willow chuckled "Yeah? You can't help out your friends?"

Wilson blushed and moved his hand to cover his lower face, flustered.

"That's not what I meant... It's just. I don't think I can do it with you. I'm sorry."

"What are you being sorry for, you idiot? This is for you, not for me. You gave it a shot, more than once. I think it's safe to say that you try too hard to be a gentleman. If it doesn't feel right, then it doesn't." she punched his shoulder playfully.

Wilson chuckled and looked down on his feet. He had thought... Maybe it didn't have to be Maxwell (Wilson fought the urge to cringe even thinking about him), maybe it could just be someone he liked, someone who he trusted. Someone safe and familiar.

And Willow was a good friend, no question. She didn't blame him or mock him, she just listened and let him cry and when there were some things that Wilson couldn't say, words that got stuck in his throat, the memories with too real feel to bring back up, she let him take his time to continue. She didn't want anything from him. She just cared, plain and simple. And Wilson was more than grateful for that. He hated every second that he had to force himself to explain what happened, why he had been acting the way he did, why his sanity was hanging lower than Wendy's will to live, why he had to lean on _that bastard_ so closely. And Willow wanted to help, she offered him her help, if the former King could make him feel better, then surely Willow could do just as good, right? 

No. No she could not. They had kissed in his tent when the topic came up. It had been weird, uncomfortable, because it was too obvious that neither of them were really into it. But they tried it, a few times, if not because Willow really just wanted to do everything she could to help, then because Wilson wanted to do everything he could to wash Maxwell out of his mouth.

Wilson started to nervously meddle with the gear on the science machine while he tried to will the crimson away from his cheeks. He frowned, thinking about everything that had happened lately. It was all too much. He wished none of it ever did happen, neither the good or bad things.

"Look" Willow said after the small amount of silence "I'll be helping you in other ways. Maybe we can go find some nice forest, set it aflame, watch the beautiful destruction together?"

The young woman burst out laughing when Wilson rose eyebrow at her, giving her the stern look that said 'really, Willow?'.

"I'm kidding! But seriously though. I will help you with whatever you need. Just ask away, let Willow handle it."

Wilson huffed out of his nose. He didn't like the feeling of being handled like a scared little mouse, but knowing Willow, she wasn't going to treat him like that for long. If anything, she was probably gonna kick his ass even harder, because she was still the same old Willow, treating him like the same old Wilson. It was nice. It was just what he needed. _It was the only thing he needed_ , he assured himself and pushed his head on Willow's shoulder again.

"Thank you."


	14. One foot in front of the other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson tries his best to keep going on with his life like he used to, but he cannot forget about certain someone.

_The throne room was dark. It was cold. It was empty._

_It was too empty._

_Wilson blinked a few times, not sure why it bothered him so much. Of course it was empty. Wasn't it always? Was something supposed to be there...?_

_He sat on the throne, wiggling his legs which didn't quite reach the floor and started biting his nails. He tried to remember what it was that wasn't right about this place._

_He leaned back to the body behind him. Suddenly he remembered that the throne room wasn't empty after all, he was sitting on someone's lap. Oh silly him, he must've forgotten._

_The gloved hand reached to hold him and Wilson leaned back, relishing in the embrace and letting the hand tighten over him, protectively, possessively, cravingly._

_He started to forget, he started to drift, he... he... he was dreaming?_

Wilson felt the long, thin hand still slightly tighten around him as he drifted between the dream and reality. It felt familiar, it felt good. He snuggled against the warmth behind his back and tried to fall back to sleep, just for a little while. Please let this little piece of heaven be real a little while longer.

But as soon as he realized he was dreaming, the reality started to claw it's way in his mind and he was forced away from... from...

Wilson frowned without opening his eyes. He tried to remember where he was, but the dream was already gone. There was still a hand around him thought, and the warmth pressed against his back.

Just not the warmth of the person he had been dreaming about.

"Whlillowh..." the man mumbled drowsily, pushing the woman laying next to him with his elbow, fluttering his eyes to get awake "You're taking up all the space... again."

Willow mumbled something as an answer but didn't budge. Wilson sat up and wondered how one woman could take up so much room. Luckily for her, Wilson didn't snore or kick in his sleep. Oh, but Willow. _She did_. She also spoke in her sleep and punched in her sleep. Thank heavens she didn't burn things in her sleep too.

Wilson yawned and dressed himself up before walking to greet Wickerbottom who was up and awake already, taking care of the crockpot.

"Mrrninnnn...."

"Mr. Higgbury, I'm sure that if you are up, you can also speak properly."

"Morning." He corrected and yawned again, taking in the cold air and ruffling his hair. Winter was just as harsh as they had feared. The nights were down right unbearably freezing, the plants had stopped growing and the food was nearly impossible to find. There was only a thin layer of snow, but it was still impossible to survive without burying yourself in winterclothing and holding a thermal stone withing reach.

Wilson arched his back until he heard the satisfying series of popping sounds, and eyed the tents.

"Anyone else awake yet?"

"Wolfgang. He went hunting some tentacle spots for me. I told him that there is no need, but he insisted. Apparently he didn't sleep very well and needed something to do."

Wilson could relate, he didn't sleep well either. He never slept well when he dreamed about Ma- _that bastard_. He told himself that it was just recollections of old feelings and events in his subconsciousness, the chemicals in his brain processing information while he was out. Nothing more, only his body's natural process that happened while he slept. Wilson did not miss him. But he wondered how long it had been since the man left the camp. Surely at least a month or two, maybe even more. It was hard to tell, none of them really kept the track of the time anymore.

Wilson decided to wake himself up by cutting down some trees. There could never be enough logs, someone always needed them and he wanted to keep his mind busy like always.

He was doing, all things considered, relatively fine.

It really helped to sleep next to someone. He was able to fall asleep faster and if he woke up in the cold sweat in the middle of the night, he was able to calm down when Willow was there with him. She also made sure that he actually slept enough, which Wilson both appreciated and loathed.

And he didn't have to go near the swamp anymore. They others didn't know why, but Willow told them that Wilson was working through some serious shit right know and they were surprisingly understanding about it (and Willow received a long lecture from Wickerbottom about manners and swearing).

Nobody blamed Wilson. It was... it was weird, for some reason. He knew it was not his fault, but he still felt accountable for getting away with something and not being able to do things that others could. Most of the time when he wasn't feeling his best they let him be. They also assured him, repeatedly, that he was not a dead weight or burden on them, and they loved him all the same no matter what.

And although Wilson needed to be reminded about that sometimes, he was starting to learn. In the Constant you had to learn fast or die trying, and he wasn't very keen on dying.

He cut the trees down to clear his mind. Everything was easier with the goal. Cut the tree, gather the logs, plant the pinecone, repeat. It kept his mind on track and gave his body something to do so he could keep himself in check. It was surprisingly effective. It kept his mind away from things that depressed him, things that he couldn't risk getting hold of him. It kept his body moving and in shape, kept him from sinking on the floor and crying hysterically.

After that bastard left, he spent the next couple of weeks randomly breaking into tears and finding himself unable to breath, shaking and bawling uncontrollably while Willow tried to keep him in his senses. He hated himself for breaking the promise that he wouldn't cry for the bastard, that he wouldn't let himself be vulnerable in front of the others, but apparently when you let one thing out of your chest, they all came out in a big tidal wave of emotions. The dam had broken down and he couldn't stop the water from flowing out.

But he couldn't let himself fall apart. He let the feelings come when they did, but if he was able to put them aside, then he rather did that so he could get more work done and be useful. He was able to have his breakdowns later, usually at nights.

Cut down, gather, plant, repeat.

Wilson kept his mind in leash and his body at work. He had to. He needed to. He told himself that every day, told himself that it was going to be fine, one foot in front of the other until you learned how to walk again. It would have been so easy to just lay on the ground and cry, to get used to being miserable, it was comforting because it was familiar. But he knew, it would hold him down until eventually getting up would be just too much, to difficult, too hard. But if he didn't let himself fall into that pit, he would survive this. All of this.

Cut down, gather, plant, repeat.

He worked away all morning, small blisters forming on his fingers and his back getting sore from all the hard work. After he was satisfied with the work he had done, he returned to the camp to bandage his fingers. They had all worked like crazy and had more than enough supplies to last the winter, but in the Constant you could never be prepared enough and so everyone was glad to see him bringing in more logs. Especially Willow, because more wood to burn meant bigger flames, and she did not complain about that in the slightest. She only grinned at him when she saw Wilson approaching.

"You're back already? I didn't even notice when you left!" She smiled, and Wilson paused to drop the backpack full of logs at his feet. He picked one log off the bag and waved it playfully in his hand.

"Of course you didn't, you sleep _like a log_. Heh... Get it? Anyway, it'd take an army to wake you up, I've given up even trying." he sighed and stretched.

Suddenly they heard the mighty yell carry from the forest.

"Brainlady! I have seen scary things! Help!" Wolfgang returned to the camp running, looking like he just saw a ghost. Which was actually quite possible, no matter how much Wilson still didn't believe they existed.

"I wonder if he just saw Wendy" Willow whispered to him, and Wilson bit his lip to choke the snicker under his breath.

"Strange thing happen in swamp! Wolfgang went to fight, get you tentacle spots like promise! But the swamp has gone BOOM! Is empty, only dead bodies and plants and wrecks!" the man explained, waving his arms and looking more panicked by a second. Willow tilted her head and Wilson frowned. Wickerbottom hushed the strongman to calm down.

"Now now, dear, calm down. What do you mean that 'it's empty?'"

"Dead monsters everywhere!" Wolfgang's eyes were wide and the poor man looked like he was only seconds away from passing out "No houses or spiders, no tentacles, everything lay on ground, everything dead!"'

"Shh shh, listen to me dear. Have you seen any destruction outside the swamp? The forest, the fields? Anywhere else?"

Wolfgang shook his head, still antsy and skittish. Wickerbottom nodded an patted his back reassuringly.

"Good, then that means that whatever wrecked the area will probably stay in there. There is no need to worry, go sit by the fire and eat something warm, will you sweety? Good boy. There you go."

She watched him go and only when the muscular man was a fair distance away, her smile faded and she scratched her chin.

"Now this is new. I wonder what has caused so much destruction. We've already got deerclops this winter, and it freezes things up while destroying them... Could there be a new giant? Oh I sure hope not. Maybe some kind of natural disaster, like the meteors...?"

Wilson listened the librarian pondering out loud. He wrapped his arms around his chest, sinking into himself. Could there really be a monster that had caused that much slaughter and ravage...? As if there wasn't enough big ugly beasts trying to tear them to shreds already! But the monsters rarely went unnoticed by the survivors, they were rather noisy and usually there were some sort of telltale signs that announced their arrival. If it was some natural disaster it also should've left noticeable marks around, like cracks on the ground, burned bushes, broken boulders...

Wilson jumped up when he felt a touch on his back. He turned to see Willow knitting her brows, concerned.

"You okay? You seem a little jumpy. Sorry for the pun." She did have a small, careful smirk on her face while she watched Wilson rubbing his arm nervously.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just... I remembered I have some stuff I have to finish at my little science station, sooo..." He gave her a lopsided smile and turned to walk at the science machine where half-finished blueprint of the boat kit laid on the ground. Wilson sighed and sat down, and pretended to work on it. He didn't feel like he was gonna make any progress, but usually if he was working on something people knew to leave him alone.

Wilson was scared to think what might have happened at the swamp. Why there? Couldn't that place just leave him alone?! Well, at least the thing that happened there apparently destroyed it. Good. He would not miss it. But still, Wilson was scared because an unpleasant thought had creeped into his mind, and he was sure it couldn't be the case, but the little 'what if' wouldn't leave him alone. He tapped his finger on the paper and closed his eyes.

The swamp, of all the places, was oddly specific place to get destroyed. And if Wolfgang was telling the truth and it was only the swamp, then... Maybe, what if...

Wilson bit his teeth together.

 _What if_ it was that bastard. _Maxwell_. What if he had returned on the throne? He could've easily destroyed the swamp from there with his powers. But why on earth would he do that? What purpose did it serve to him? He didn't have any reason to do it, not any that Wilson could think of. Well, not one he wanted to think of. And more importantly, why would he ever even return on the throne, when he so clearly despised everything about it? It made no sense. But seeing as they hadn't seen any signs of other survivors anywhere, and Maxwell was the only one who wasn't with them...

Wilson rubbed his hands on his face. He was exhausted. It was either some horrendous new monstrosity or Maxwell, he was sure of it. He wasn't sure how he felt about the thought of Maxwell returning to his position as the nightmare King, but if he had, it couldn't be good news. Part of Wilson was happy in a very twisted, petty way. _Serves him right, let that bastard rot away in there all alone_.

But the other part, the part that Wilson listened more often, thought that despite everything that had happened, Maxwell still didn't deserve that kind of fate... nobody did. The throne was a literal nightmare and Wilson had already once set Maxwell free from it, because he knew that any punishment in the world must have been better than the throne.

\---

The world grew darker and darker until it slipped into it's pitch black nightgown, and the group sat over the firepit, talking and warming themselves up when the temperature dropped freezingly low. Wilson sat at his science station the whole day long, mindlessly drawing on the paper and writing notes only to get nothing done. He was too distracted to get any real work done, damn it. Eventually he started to get too cold and dragged his feet over to the log-set up at the campfire and sat down with a huff.

"Hi, glad you joined us. Whachu thinking about?" Willow asked in her nosy voice and moved closer to him, and Wilson rubbed his face again.

"Maxwell..." he mumbled and brushed his fingers through his hair lazily. Damn, he was just tired. He had tried to banish Maxwell and everything that reminded him of the man away from his mind, but the cursed magician always managed to slip back in there somehow. And what's even worse, he was afraid that the man could potentially be a threat to them again, if he had really done something as stupid as return to the throne...

It took a good while for Wilson to notice that everyone had fallen silent. He rose his gaze and saw everyone staring at him, some looking uneasy, some just surprised.

"...You haven't talked about him for a while." Willow noted after the silence was getting too uncomfortable. Wilson lowered his head and gripped the fabric of his trousers. He hadn't _wanted_ to think about the bastard, but the man was just still holding his mind hostage. Wilson would've done anything to forget about him. But he should've guessed that it would be too easy solution, too good to be true.

"I haven't wanted to talk about him. It's just came into my mind that, what if it was Maxwell who destroyed the swamp?" He didn't look up, still a little ashamed, for some reason, that he had accidentally slipped the man's name out loud.

"What dö yöu mean?"

"Well, if he, for example, had returned to the nightmare throne? It wouldn't be much of a task to do a little redecorating from there. I wouldn't put it past him..." Wilson wondered, bitterly.

"Oh, he is not there." Wendy cut in, not bothering to look at him. Wilson rose his head and stared at her, surprised and confused.

"What?"

Wendy was watching the flames, her fingers tapping against her knees quietly.

"He is still my uncle. We might not get along well, but I do not wish for him to die. Neither does Abigail. So I send her scouting some time ago. Maxwell was not anywhere near the portal that could lead on the deeper levels of the Constant, neither is he traveling in that direction. In fact, Abby told me that he seemed to be heading north."

It was Wendy's turn to get stared at. Wilson's mouth hung open, trying to find something to say. He hadn't even considered that someone else would be thinking about Maxwell too. He had just assumed that because everyone already hated the man, nobody would sacrifice even the slightest, faintest thought for him.

Wilson felt the sting on his chest. So what? Maybe Maxwell shouldn't be forgotten. Maybe they should remember him and all the terrible things he had done, so they never had to make the mistake of trusting him again.

"Oh. Well, the further he will go the better. Good riddance." Wilson growled and leaned on his palm.

"We miss mister Maxwell... We liked him." Webber started warily, gaining a disapproving glare from Wilson. The arachnid was moving closer to Wilson, a little bit scared by the stare they were getting, holding arms out to hug him. Wilson didn't feel like hugging. He was angry that he had wasted time even thinking about Maxwell at all, and he was angry that Webber missed the man, for some unfathomable reason.

Instead of hugging he put his hand on the monster child's shoulder and stared at them, trying to look firm but kind "You like everyone, Webber, but don't forget that Maxwell is not a nice man. He is mean and cruel and he tricked you into coming here."

Webber frowned and lowered their many eyes on their feet. 

"B-but... But mister Maxwell apologized to us. And he isn't bad anymore... He told us he won't be bad anymore!" Webber rose their eyes back at Wilson, and they were glistening with tears "When we were scared that you will die he send his shadow to take us home, and mister shadow hold us when we cried... A-a-and Maxwe-well came to, to s-see if we are hurt when we went to slee-eep, a-and w-w-w-" Webber's words became incoherent mess of hiccups and whines when the tears fell down his black hairy cheeks. Wilson felt his insides twist. Poor Webber, they were so kind and sweet and they didn't deserve to be fooled by Maxwell like this. Not if Wilson could help it. He gave up and took the crying kid under his arms and hugged them tight.

"Don't worry. It's gonna be fine... You just have to understand that some people are not nice, no matter how much you'd like them to be." Wilson responded, swaying the weeping spider boy on his arms.

"It's true that my uncle is not very nice. But does that make him a bad person?" Wendy asked, tilting her head, eyes still directed at the flames. Wilson held Webber close, but moved his attention to the small girl. Wendy bowed her head "I understand his need to be the way he is. I, too, find it difficult to trust the false happiness of the world that will eventually come to it's bitter end."

Wilson looked down. Wendy and Webber were both kids. Very brave, very smart kids, but still just kids. They didn't have the same concept of the world that the adults did, they couldn't possibly know any better. In the world of children, older people were always right, parents were always loving, and bad guy always pays. They couldn't understand the depth of things like this. 

"Yöu knöw, a real jerk he might be, but I must admit that he knew höw tö fight his way thröugh life. I must appreciate that." Wigfrid joined the conversation and looked at Wilson apologetically. Wilson leered at her like he had just been personally insulted. And he might as well have been, in his opinion.

"Wilson, dear. Do you think it's possible that there might have been a misunderstanding between you two?" Wickerbottom asked, eyeing him over her glasses. Wilson was aghast. He was sure at this point that he was either hallucinating or having a nightmare, because Wickerbottom couldn't possibly be serious. After all that Maxwell had done?! After Wilson was the only one defending him for months and paid the price for it?!

"What on earth does that even mean?" he spat and put Webber down. Wickerbottom sighed and took off her glasses to clean them to the small cloth she kept on her shirt's chestpocket.

"Do not give that attitude to me, young man. You are both very stubborn and proud men and I have tried not to intervene, because despite your whims, you are both capable adults. But I think this has been going on too long now. Do you remember what he said the last night he was at the camp?"

Wilson stood up, glaring at her. He was balling his fists and shaking, and not because of the cold night air.

"... If there is something you remember differently than me, then spit it out. I'm listening." he snapped. Wickerbottom was there too, she should know all too damn well what happened! She should know why Maxwell had to go, why he couldn't be trusted, why Wilson didn't have to stand here and let himself be lectured about something that he was right about!

"I'm going to sleep. Good night." he snarled through clenched teeth and stomped to his tent, not bothering to wait for an answer.

Wilson sat down and started counting to hundred to control his temper, to calm down before he said something he would regret. He didn't even get to fifty when there was a knock on the post of his tent.

Wilson grunted, but told the intruder to come in anyway. It's not like he didn't already know it was Willow.

"Listen, Wilson. Before you start ranting, I feel like I should tell you something too."

Willow sounded odd. Like she was squirming with herself, like she was holding something in. Wilson turned to glance at her, still certainly angry, but that was no excuse to stop being a gentleman.

"Go on, then" he half-breathed the sentence out and pinched his forehead. Willow sat next to him and bit her lip, taking a moment before starting.

"I don't like Maxwell. I don't want him back here, and I will never, ever forgive him. And as much as I just hate to say this, I think I have to..." she took another quick breath and huffed the air out, and cleared her throat "I think that Wickerbottom may be right."

"No, not you too, Willow-"

"Let me finish you rude short fuse! So, I think she might be right about that Maxwell might have let you understand him wrong on purpose."

Wilson furrowed his brows "Now why would he do that?"

"Well I don't know what's happening in his head! But... Maxwell wasn't really wrong when he said that I might have maybe took some things out of context... But I never twisted his words! He did say all those things, but we were fighting and I think that maybe he just said that to annoy me because I was so quick to blame him about how he treats you and... And come on, he is Maxwell. It's not like he usually is straight-forward with his intentions, right? He is always being kind of an ass, whether it's on purpose or not. I would have told you sooner but I only thought about that possibility recently, and you were so strict about not talking about him..."

"Please leave, I'd like to be alone for tonight."

"Wilson-"

"Leave. I want to be alone. Please."

Wilson heard his friend getting up and walking away, and he lowered his tired eyes on his hands. He needed to do some thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilson: I should think about this.  
> Everyone reading this fic: Fucking finally.


	15. The guilt we share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson regrets things and realizes that he might have not been treating Maxwell as nicely as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This chapter has implied elemets of possible dubcon and talk about rape.

Wilson laid on his back and stared at the green fabric of the tent. He circled everything that was said over the firepit in his mind. After giving it some thought, he could easily excuse Wendy for missing Maxwell, she was his niece after all. Kinda something that should've been expected, really. That made sense. Webber's reaction also made sense, he was just a little kid and he was incredibly kind-hearted and probably didn't even understand that Maxwell was just master of deceit. How could he blame that poor little boy for wanting to believe that he had changed?

The short man turned on his side and aggressively started at the small chest that contained some of his personal belongings. He had thought that Maxwell had changed, too. He had been pathetic and gullible. He had been a fool. A real joke. Maxwell must've gotten a real good laugh about that. Haha, oh wow, Wilson's so easy to fool, it's like he wants to be taken advantage of! After everything they had been through, how could anyone expect him to not think so lowly of Maxwell? He had all the right in the world to hate that sadistic monster, no matter what the others said.

Wilson let the air out of his nose and pressed his eyes close. What was it again that Wickerbottom told him? That there had been some misunderstanding? As if there ever wasn't a misunderstanding with Maxwell. He was counting on that, he wanted there to be misunderstandings. Then he would pretend he meant something completely different and even though everyone knew he was just bending his words to fit his will, he still managed to get out of trouble scot-free.

But Wickerbottom also asked if he remembered what Maxwell had said that night. Of course Wilson did, that's why he was so miserable in the first place! That's why he could never forgive Maxwell! Oh, he did remember, he did. Maxwell had told him that...

Wilson opened his eyes.

Maxwell had questioned him that if he really trusted him, should he be asking about his intentions. That was just a damn stupid question, in all honesty. Of course he was afraid that Maxwell would be hiding something, why wouldn't he be? Was that really something to hold against him, after everything that Maxwell had done? But Wilson had to admit to himself that Maxwell had only answered his own question with a question, so it wasn't like he had confessed to using Wilson, yet.

But he had used Wilson. Wilson had asked, pegged, pleaded to know that Maxwell hadn't just been using him for his own pleasure and amusement and...

What was the thing Maxwell had told him? He had told him...

Wilson bolted up to sit and held his breath. Maxwell had just told him to use his head and think. Wilson stopped and repeated the words in his head again, slowly. Use your head and think. Use your head. Think.

Maxwell hadn't really confessed anything. Wilson threw the accusations at him, and Maxwell asked if he trusted him, asked him to think. Wilson buried his fingers deep in his hair and stared at nothing. He had entered the situation without a clue what was going on, and Willow and Maxwell were fighting, and he had asked if Maxwell was really just using him and because Maxwell was Maxwell, of course he would act like a jerk when there were other people around, of course he would find a way to pretend he didn't care, and then he had asked-

Wilson felt his blood run cold.

Maxwell had asked him to think. Maxwell had asked him to make his own decision. Asked what _he_ believed was the truth. And he had made his decision. He had decided not to trust Maxwell.

Wilson furrowed his brows, slowly shaking his head. No. No, it couldn't be that simple. There had to be something that he had missed, something he wasn't paying attention to. Find the hidden intention, see through the lies. Think back, when had this all started?

Wilson didn't have to think too far back to know. It started when Maxwell rescued him at the swamp. Maxwell had been very careful and gentle after that, almost as if he was afraid. And Maxwell hadn't told anyone about what happened, and yes, maybe Maxwell did save him from that hound in the battle with the Varg, and sure Maxwell was always angry and rude, but he wasn't really cruel to Wilson, and it was actually pretty kind of him to use the nightmare fuel (that he always whined about not having enough) to make shadows to keep Wilson company at night.

Wilson kept digging his fingers in his hair when he tried to make sense of this all. Maybe Maxwell hadn't just tricked him to lay with him after all. Maybe that was just a coincidence, an unplanned situation that just happened. Maybe if Maxwell hadn't caught him trying to kiss his shadow, he wouldn't have told Wilson that if he didn't have anyone else to help him, he could kiss Maxwell, and-

Wilson gasped, suddenly realizing that Maxwell had offered to only _kiss_ him. Had Wilson... Had he ever, at any point, asked Maxwell if _he_ wanted to have sex? He must have, right? He was so anxious and scared and he didn't really think what Maxwell wanted, but to be fair the man seemed to be really into it, and Wilson just wanted to feel good and feel better and he had just gone with the flow. 

The invisible strings around his heart returned and began to tighten up. After it was over, Maxwell had only asked if it helped Wilson. If it made him feel better. Maxwell had done it to help him, he had been worried. 

Wilson brought his hand to his face and bit his knuckles. Did... did _he_ use _Maxwell?_ Was _he_ the one who was being selfish and cruel?

No, that couldn't be. There had to be more to that. There had to be a reason that Maxwell was acting that way, there had to be something more than just him trying to be nice, there had to be.

But Wilson never asked him after that either, he just assumed that Maxwell wanted it, he assumed that he liked it.

_Oh no._

What if Maxwell really didn't like him? Didn't like being touched and kissed? And he just let Wilson do it because of some stupid guilt complex, because he was trying to be better than before, because Wilson constantly told him that he should, and he thought somehow that _that_ was the right way to show that he cared? And Wilson never even stopped to wonder was Maxwell okay with any of that. He should have asked. But, to be fair, Maxwell hadn't really told him to stop at any point, and Wilson would have stopped if he asked, but he didn't. But on the other hand, Maxwell hadn't really done anything that Wilson didn't do first. He was never one who started. He let Wilson do what Wilson wanted, and he just let it happen.

Wilson felt sudden urge to vomit. He didn't want to think it that far, he didn't want to think the possibility that he had made Maxwell do something he wasn't comfortable with, because that was the last thing he wanted. He would never do that, not on purpose!

... And Maxwell had let him to make his choice. To trust him or not. Maybe he was scared that Wilson really did hate him and hoped that Wilson would just trust him enough to realize that everything Willow had said was not true. Wilson grunted and fought the nausea dwelling inside him. He should have known better, god fucking damnit, he should have known that Maxwell was an idiot who would rather be hated and die alone than let anyone know that he was an actual human being with actual human emotions!

Wilson felt horrible. He had to fix this, somehow, some way. He had said terrible things to Maxwell. He had told Maxwell that nobody would miss him and he was as good as dead. He had told Maxwell that there was nothing good in him.

And Maxwell let him say all those things, he let Wilson think that he was just playing with him, and why? Because he was too proud to let anyone see the real him? To see him caring about something else than himself?

The scientist fold over his legs and tried to fight the increasing sick feeling forming in his gut. He could practically almost taste the vomit in his throat. He had to find Maxwell and tell him that he didn't mean all that and that he was sorry and he was grateful and-

Oh, had he even _thanked_ Maxwell for his help? At any point?

Wilson crawled over to open the chest, and pulled a paper and featherpen on his lap. He couldn't let the anxiety get hold of him, he wasn't any use to anyone if he did, he shouldn't let his mind jump from one horrible thought to another, he had to keep concentrating on something.

He started to make a list. How many times had he saved Maxwell? Well first of, the throne, obviously. After that he let Maxwell stay on his camp. That was another. Then there was that one hound attack that caught them off guard, the killer bee accident, the time when Maxwell stepped right into a tooth trap...

The list went on and on, until Wilson was fairly sure he had every single time on record. Good. Now how many times had Maxwell saved him? Well the first time was when Wilson almost got his head pecked open by some tallbird that was overly protective of it's nest, the second time was when...

Wilson had to pause for a moment. The pen shook gently in his grip as he stared down. He hadn't really given it a name. He was afraid to say the word, even inside his own mind, afraid to give it a title so it would feel less real. Less real and less painful. But it did have a name, the thing that happened.

Wilson swallowed and put the pencil on the paper with shaky fingers. He felt his eyes tearing up, but he shook it away. Not now, he had to concentrate. He took in a shuddering breath and wrote the word down carefully, as if it would somehow jump into existence and hurt him even as a written word.

The pen scratched the lines on the paper, and Wilson let out a heavy breath that he had been holding. He stared at the word, feeling somehow equally scared and and relieved, like a crushing weight had flown away from his chest, but left an empty, dark hole in it's place.

Rape. That's what the word was called, and that was the second time Maxwell saved him. The time when he got raped. 

Wilson took a ragged breath and rubbed the wetness in his eyes away. Not now, later. He forced himself to move forward with the list. He had decided that he would not let that incident hold him down and keep him from getting the things he wanted. He refused to think about it any longer than he had to.

Third, the varg. Fourth, well, he wondered if he should add the first time He and Maxwell had sex. To be honest he was about to kick the bucket just because the shadow creatures were getting stronger and stronger while his mental health was dragging on the ground. He decided to add that.

That made 15 times he saved Maxwell from something rather serious, and 4 times Maxwell saved him. Wilson started to add little marks over the list for every time he remembered that Maxwell had thanked him from saving his ass, and then for the times he thanked Maxwell.

Maxwell thanked him 9 times. He thanked Maxwell once. Wilson tapped the pencil on the paper and sighed deeply.

He felt like the biggest, meanest jerk in the whole universe. A real gentleman, sure! What a joke. He almost wanted to tell himself that he wasn't in the position to make any sensible decisions, that he was suffering from the aftermath of the... the rape... and he wasn't really to blame because he wasn't well and it was hard to control his feelings when even he himself couldn't understand them.

But in his suddenly very much aching and regretful heart he knew he was guilty for things too. Things that were a little bit complicated mind you, but that was no excuse to run away from his responsibility. He needed to set things right. He needed to find Maxwell and drag his stupid skinny ass back and tell him he was sorry and thank him properly. That was the right thing to do.

But first, Wilson tasted the gastric acid on his mouth, first he was gonna go outside before he accidentally vomited all over his bed.


	16. Where there's a Will-son there's a way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While looking for Maxwell, Wilson is lonely and has a lot of time to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry for the stupid title.

The winter was long, longer than it had ever been before, it felt like. Every time Wilson was out gathering, chopping trees or hunting he hoped to somehow run into Maxwell. He wished that somehow, inside his thick skull the man would have come to a conclusion that he couldn't survive alone and returned. That he regretted leaving, or that he was too scared to go too far from the base camp anyway. Every little crackle on the twigs or soft sounds of foot on the snow got his hopes up, even if he knew that it couldn't be the magician. Still, one could hope.

It had been well over a month since he left the group to search for Maxwell. He didn't know how long he would be away and it was certainly reckless and insane to go out alone when winter was already halfway upon them, but no matter how logical it would be to wait the spring and stay safe, Wilson knew he couldn't bear to wait for that long. What kind of a man that would've made him, to wait for more convenient time while Maxwell was most likely out here freezing and struggling to stay alive? A very poor excuse of a man, that's what it would make him.

No, he wasn't going to wait. He had left the very next day after he realized how dumb he had been. Of course the group was not exactly glad to see him go, but they understood. Mostly.

Webber had cried, fearing that Wilson was not going to come back at all just like Maxwell, hanging on his leg and showing their big spider teeth to anyone, hissing if someone dared to try to pry them off of the scientist. It took a while to finally convince them to understand that Wilson was in fact coming back as soon as he found Maxwell. It hurt to leave Webber behind, the young spider boy had grown very attached to Wilson and the scientist would've been lying if he claimed that he wasn't very attached to Webber too.

Willow had been nervous to let him go alone, but she understood that this was something Wilson had to do, and reluctantly let him go after many threats of burning off his oh-so-beloved hair if he died or didn't come back. The others had similar responses, they all wished him well and hoped to see him soon.

And, so that he wouldn't have been so very alone on the road, he took Chester with him. He never said it out loud, but he always considered Chester to be _his_ pet. So of course he wanted to take the orange furball with him, he loved that little creature.

Wilson returned to his own small camp to cook the meat from the stray beefalo he had killed. He actually liked the big, smelly creatures, but it was survival of the fittest. Better it than him, he thought as he stabbed the stick into the red meat and leaned it above the fire. He wondered if Maxwell had been eating well. He wondered if Maxwell had been eating at all. It didn't take a genius to know that the older man was way too weak to take on any bigger creature than a rabbit without the aid of his shadows, and Wilson was fairly sure that the man couldn't handle using the shadows everyday without some major drawbacks.

Wilson stared into the flames and pulled himself closer to stay warm, patting Chester on top of it's head. How far had Maxwell even gone? He was sure he was headed to the right direction, and it started to make him paranoid that he still had seen no signs of the man anywhere. It was easy to let the fears into his head, too easy to think about every single terrible thing that could've happened here. What if Maxwell had gone back to the throne after all? What if he had died and couldn't find a touchstone, and was sent to another world to survive all alone there? What if he had died and was now a ghost, flying around the place without a clue how to revive himself? What if-

No, enough of 'what ifs'. Maxwell was frail and very bad at surviving, but he was still Maxwell, he always found a way out of the trouble and he knew how to avoid dying. Wilson comforted himself with that thought as he took a bite out of his steak.

It was lonely to be out here alone. It reminded him of his old house. He used to be alone a lot there too, only occasionally leaving to buy groceries and whatnot. In a way he almost could pretend he missed it. Well, he missed that he could go where ever he wanted and that he wasn't in mortal danger all the time or in some kind of pain, but he couldn't really say that he was happy back then. He missed the good days. But the good days were always far and few apart, so there was really nothing even waiting for him back there anymore. Damn, he never even had a pet. He never really wanted one, they took time and money and attention away from things Wilson would much rather waste his time for, but some company would have been nice. Maybe then he would have missed it more. At least now he had Chester. He qualified as a pet, sort of.

Maybe it was due to his continuous failing at his experiments, or the lack of friends to trust and lean on, or the none-existing respect from his fellow gentlemen scientists, or his ongoing crisis with the fact that the world was not accepting of the men like him who preferred the company of other men, but he couldn't find it in himself to say he actually missed his old life at all. If you looked past dying all the damn time and starving every now and then, and maybe the lack of civilization, he actually liked it here more. Here the things didn't really matter. When you were all busy just trying not to die all the time, nobody could've cared less about something as minor as if you liked men or women.

Wilson wiped the tiny crumbs from his overgrown stubble to his sleeve and added fuel into the fire. He watched the bright flames dance against the sky that was turning darker fast, letting his mind wander.

If Maxwell had come here from the same world, or at least a similar world, maybe he had struggled with something similar too. Maybe he had been lonely there. Wilson wouldn't want him to be lonely here as well. And if he ever found Maxwell, if Maxwell wanted to come back with him and they somehow finally found a way to escape this hell hole, Wilson wondered if he would want to live together with him. It would be fine if Maxwell wasn't like him, if he didn't feel the same way as Wilson did (if he even cared about Wilson anymore after how mean he was to him), he would have been content to just be near the other man. That would be enough for him.

It was childish, wistful thinking, but it was something to wait for, something look forward to happen in some distant, unclear future. Wilson always drove better with a goal anyway. This was a good goal to aim at.

He yawned as his eyelids started to droop and his head felt heavy. Maybe he'd find Maxwell tomorrow.

\---

The awaited tomorrow came and went, as did the next day, fast and quiet, lonely and still. No Maxwell, but Wilson had found destroyed spider nests that he hoped very hard were destroyed by the said man.

He followed the destruction, keeping an eye out for anything that could imply that the magician had been there.

But at the end of the third day he was still alone in the wilderness, no Maxwell, no pigmen, no one to reassure him that it was going to be fine. Except for Chester. Chester was good company.

\---

Wilson didn't count the days, but he knew the spring was close now. The penguls had abandoned their nests and the days were getting longer, the weather now much warmer and getting too hot to sit close to the flaming campfire.

Wilson found a graveyard that was dug through and through, not a single headstone had been left alone. It gave him hope that this was Maxwell's doing, even though the man had always considered himself to be far above grave robbing, it was not hard to imagine that if he had been running low on some resources he had to find them where ever possible. It always seemed to happen, even to the best of them.

The little trinkets laid on the melting snow, left behind by the grave robber. If Wilson had only been scavenging, he might have taken some of them with him - the Pig King seemed to adore all sorts of useless junk and was very generous with his rewards. But Wilson couldn't let himself be distracted, only taking the necessary resources with him along the way. He was not here to find gold, he was here to find Maxwell.

The emptied graves led him into a large forest. He heard the spiders and pigmen fighting in the distance, but he was more interested of the chopped down trees that left the small area cleaned off of the plants and let the sunshine through the tall, dark trees.

Now this, this had to be Maxwell. The scientist followed the stumps, leading deeper into the forest, until eventually he came to the place that loomed empty of any life, just the sea of burned down trees, ashes and charcoal for as far as the eye could see. Wilson blinked. Either it had been an accident, or Maxwell had been so cold he decided to burn the whole bunch of evergreens down just to stay warm. Or maybe to kill a monster, who could say.

He made his way through the ash forest, looking for a clue to follow, maybe a destroyed camp or more tree stumps, but there was only blackened wood around him. Chester bounced on his heels and got it's fur dirty from the remaining ashes.

Until eventually, Wilson found himself standing in front of the used, destroyed touchstone. He swallowed the bitter knot down his throat. So Maxwell had been here, and at some point he had died. But at least he was alive again, probably. Wilson ran his fingers over the cold stone surface. He really hoped to find Maxwell alive and well, or at least as well as one could be in the Constant. Dying was never something he took lightly, even if he knew the revival was possible. No matter how many times you went through it, it was always scary, always painful and always horrible. And you could always remember it, remember just how awful the experience had been.

He really hoped to find Maxwell soon.

Wilson found his way out of the evergreen forest only to instead find himself in the deciduous one. There he found a few destroyed beehives, possibly work of the bearger, but could also be done by someone who needed honey and poultice. He gathered a few early flowers and continued past the field of stingers and pieces of the destroyed hivewalls.

When the darkness fell, he made his campfire near the hollow stump, where a curious catcoon had been living at some point, but was now empty. At least the stripey creature left behind some supplies it had stolen (that Wilson gladly stole to himself instead). Wilson tried to make himself comfortable on the fur roll and held Chester close to his chest. Hehe, Chester, chest. It was pity there was no one he could talk to, he really liked having the opportunity for conversation every once in a while. He spoke to chester, sure, but the only answer he ever got back was drooling and panting and occasional yelp.

Wilson kept the fire going, careful not to let it grow too big and make him too hot. Right now it was the perfect temperature, keeping the chill of the night away but not making him sweat everywhere under his clothes. The fur roll was getting a way too tattered to use for much longer too, he probably had to switch it for straw roll pretty soon.

Wilson played with the tuft on his roll and pressed his eyes close. He started to get to the point where the loneliness begun to feel a way too familiar. He could still remember the days when he had just been pulled into the Constant, trying his best to survive in the strange, unwelcoming environment, failing miserably time after time, and he did it all alone for ages.

And every time he died, he woke up in the familiar place, with the familiar voice to greet him, as if they haven't gone through it hundreds of times before. And how he wished to punch that voice straight out of the mouth that spoke to him. Told him he should find something to eat before the night, as if he didn't already know it.

Wilson realized that he was smiling softly. When he laid here, all alone in his lonesome and keeping an eye on the fire so it wouldn't go out on him, he could almost imagine that everything that had happened lately had only been a dream. That he had hallucinated everything because he had been so alone for so long that he was so, so desperately starved to have any human contact at all. He could almost fool himself to think that it had been a trick, a sweet lie that Maxwell offered to him only to take it away to watch him fall apart and cry and get furious.

Maxwell liked to play with him like that back then. Wilson let the humorless snort out of his mouth when he thought about that. Maxwell had been more than annoying, always playing with him, always trying to get him lose his mind, to lose his temper. Just like he did with everyone else too. It wasn't hard to understand why some of them found it difficult to forgive him.

But there had always been certain things that Wilson was pretty sure that Maxwell had never done to the other survivors. The little subtle touches, for example. The fingertips sweeping lightly over his chin, the talon flicking on his nose, the gloved hands dusting the invisible dirt off his shoulder. From what Wilson had understood, Maxwell hadn't been very touchy with the others when he had been the King.

Wilson was not sure how to feel about that information. He liked, in a way, to know that he had been special. But he knew better, he knew he had been special only because Maxwell got an immense pleasure from watching Wilson get flustered and provoked. It hadn't probably meant anything nice back then. Not a sweet little gesture, no, but a mean way to remind him that he was a pawn, a toy in the sandbox that Maxwell controlled, and he was completely at the mercy of the nightmare King.

Sure there had been other things too. Wilson could remember sometimes being a few moments, maybe even only a mere minutes away from the death, and somehow he had found something out of place that had saved him. A sudden berry bush in the middle of the rockylands. An abandoned torch just laying on the ground when the night was about to get him. A beefalo herd far from the savanna when he was chased by the hounds and had no weapons available.

He hadn't ever thought anything about it, but now he supposed that it might have been Maxwell's work, to help him for some reason. Wilson didn't know what reasons Maxwell had to do the things he did, but like he knew, the throne changed people. It might have been a rebellious act to show _Them_ that he still had something inside him that hadn't changed, or it might have been an apology, when Maxwell felt a little bit more remorseful than usual. It was so hard to ever really know what was going on with that guy.

Wilson let his smile slowly fade. He must be either really lonely or really insane if he found himself missing even the times back when Maxwell was a class A asshole.

The young man sat up and stared at the distant darkness. What was he doing? Was he being serious, fighting the hardships of the nature all alone while searching for the man who had doomed him to suffer in this place for the eternity? He could have been safe and sound in the camp, surrounded by the people who cared about him and whom he cared about as well. He didn't owe anything to Maxwell. If anything, Maxwell owed him. He owed Wilson a series of apologies and respect and some god damn justice, and there was no reason for Wilson to be out here hunting him down like this.

He sighed and shook his head, letting it fall into his hands. He was out of his mind. Probably had been for a long time now. But no matter how ridiculous it felt, how much he thought that he didn't need to do this, he still couldn't give up. He was better than that. He wasn't going to leave until he had found Maxwell and they had made amends or something, he wasn't really sure what happened after he actually found the other man, but he knew he was gonna do it. He was gonna find Maxwell.

Wilson sat there, his face buried behind his fingers, shifting in and out of light sleep, until the darkness slowly begun to fade away, the world getting brighter and casting long shadows from the trees. It was by the sheer coincidence that Wilson happened to rise his eyes on the dark lines in between the trees. Pure chance that he happened to gaze there long enough to see movement inside the lines. A fortunate accident that he happened to realize, just as one of the shadows walked away, that it had very distinctive human features.


	17. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson finds the man he had been searching for, and it lefts him nothing but worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilson why did you release Maxwell in the wilderness you know he has no idea how to take care of himself.

Wilson didn't bother to put out the fire as he picked up his backpack and ran after the shadow before he could lose it. Not now, not when he was so close. He dripped over the branches and almost run into a pond, but he didn't care, he had to catch up to the shadow, he had to find Maxwell, he found Maxwell, if he could only catch the shadow he was gonna find Maxwell!

Catching up with the shadow clone was not as difficult as he had feared. It walked very slowly and Wilson ran up to it rather quickly. Maybe he had feared that the shadow would have ran away from him, maybe disappeared, but the shadow didn't seem to even mind that it was being chased.

Wilson ran in front of it, out of breath from the sudden sprint and stopped it from moving by holding his hand over it's chest, pausing to catch his breath. The shadow stopped for a moment, then it slowly hung it's head like it tried to look at the man who had prevented it from walking. Wilson looked up at it, still panting, taking in those familiar features that he hadn't seen for ages. He let his eyes wander over the silhouette of the sharp chin, the crooked nose and the broad shoulders. Oh how he had missed them. Even if the shadow lacked the obvious real traits, it still filled a small part in Wilson that had been empty since Maxwell had left. 

The shadow continued to stare at him without eyes for a moment longer, until suddenly it tried to walk through him. Wilson wasn't ready, he tensed up and held his breath, feeling the cold substance beginning to swallow him, until he had the sense to step aside and let it pass him. The shadow didn't show him a second glance as it walked away, and Wilson silently set to follow behind it.

They walked back to the pinetree forest, but they didn't need to go too deep to reach their destination. There, attacking spiders with two more shadows puppets, was the man Wilson had been looking for. He stopped dead on his tracks, while the third shadow continued walking and manifested a sword in it's hand, soon joining the slaughter of the six legged nuisances.

Wilson could only stare for a moment and he felt like the time itself had stopped. He could only stare, stare at the ragged, dirty suit and long skinny limbs, the usually so neatly brushed hair that was now out of shape and the hollow, skinny cheeks and the sunken, dark eye sockets that lined around the pitch black eyes.

Maxwell cut down the last offending spider, and took a step over it, inhaling a deep breath and tilting his head backwards. Then the man started gathering the loot around the bodies. Wilson snapped back into the reality from his trance, and took a few wary steps forward. He had found Maxwell. So, what was he planning to do now? Should he just say hi? No, that would be rude after their friendship ended in an argument. But he should announce his presence somehow, before he could go to the point. That was polite.

All of a sudden Maxwell turned to look at him, and Wilson stopped with a flinch. Maxwell furrowed his brows and glanced at the third shadow, who probably would've looked guilty if it was capable of expressing emotions.

Wilson felt the sudden heat burn the back of his neck. Now what?

Maxwell finally decided to remove his gaze from the shadow, and turned his attention on Wilson, still looking very much displeased. Wilson had to fight the urge to run away. It didn't exactly send comfort to him that a man, who was currently holding a sword and whose feelings he might have hurt before he left, glared daggers at him. He swallowed and clenched his hands into fists, answering Maxwell's stare with his own. The tall man furrowed deeper, then took a few hesitant steps forward. Wilson took a quick note that Maxwell was slightly limping. The man stopped before him, not quite close enough to touch without reach, but close enough that Wilson could hear his slightly whistling inhales. Was Maxwell sick?

"...Are you an illusion?" the man finally spoke, tilting his head ever so slightly. Wilson's mouth fell open and his eyes widened from surprise. Well, that was not what he had imagined to be the opening line. He let his jaw hang open for a second before he could finally find his voice.

"N-no, I am not an illusion." he confirmed with a confused tone. Maxwell tilted his head back up.

"I see. That's what an illusion would say." he muttered more to himself and stepped closer and reached his hand to lightly grip Wilson's chin. The touch made the smaller man shiver, but he let the other man turn his head left and right, before he let him go again and Wilson noticed that he looked even more confused.

"You certainly feel more real this time. Good trick, I'm impressed." Maxwell said slowly and eyed him up and down. To Wilson, this whole situation felt unreal. Maxwell reached his hand up again as if to touch him, but decided against it and instead let it fall limb on his side. They just stared at each other for a while, and Wilson noticed that Maxwell had a lot of red veins in the corners of his eyes. Had he been staying awake too much? Or maybe he had been crying? His eyes sure seemed like they were irritated to the point that Wilson wanted to just reach up and close them so they could rest.

Instead he frowned, taking a hold of himself and spoke up.

"I am real. I... I came here to-" his words were cut of by Maxwell's raised hand.

"No. I'm not having this conversation with you. I will ask Charlie later. You are hers, after all." after that Maxwell turned around and casually took his leave. Wilson stared after him, filled with much more questions and a whole lot of pity and guilt. Maxwell was clearly not fine, not at all. If he couldn't even tell if Wilson was real or not, he must be having some troubles with his mental health (but for some dumb reason he still tries to carry himself with his former grace and class, even if the only ones present were the shadows and 'the illusion Wilson').

Wilson knitted his brows. Maxwell looked tired, he looked sick, he looked disoriented. And Wilson knew that he must've had a rough winter, and he felt horrible knowing that it could've been avoided if he had just stopped to use his head instead his heart for a second. He really messed up this time.

He let out a heavy sigh and walked after Maxwell.

Who the hell was this Charlie, anyway? Wilson hadn't seen anyone new here, and he most certainly was not hers! What ever that even meant.

He walked a few steps behind the older man who dismissed his shadows and gathered the left-over nightmare fuel from them. He didn't turn to look at Wilson even once on their walk to his camp.

"Listen Maxwell, we need to talk." Wilson tried, but no matter how long he waited, no answer or even the slimmest acknowledgement of his words ever came. Maxwell walked slowly, swaying a bit as he moved, and Wilson tried to help him by letting him lean on him, but the other man just growled and shuddered himself away.

"Just let me help, please" Wilson tried again, with a low and soft tone, but Maxwell's face only grew darker and he fastened his phase. Unfortunately for him, it was way too easy to keep up with the limping man and Wilson stayed right behind him the whole way.

Not knowing what to do or say, the scientist decided to keep quiet for now. He was waiting for a good moment to reach out to Maxwell, maybe when the other had understood that he wasn't just some unusually persistent illusion. Or maybe that Charlie-character could help him out. If she wasn't some hallucination too, that is. Judging by how sure Maxwell seemed about that Wilson was not real, it was quite possible that Maxwell would've had some other delusions too.

Maxwell's camp was simple and modest. No wonder, he probably hadn't had any time to prepare to anything else than his most immediate needs when the winter came. Wilson stood awkwardly at the edge of the campsite, watching Maxwell sit down and start mixing spider glands with the jar of ashes. Wilson sat down quietly, gaining one side-glance from Maxwell, but the magician left it at that and continued making healing salve without a word.

The day went by quietly. Wilson had tried one last time to ask if Maxwell wanted to talk, but the man didn't pay him any mind. Had Wilson been more impulsive and not so tired from the who knows how many weeks he spend on the road searching, he might have just spoken to him nonetheless and forced him to listen. But he had a feeling that that kind of approach wouldn't end up like he wanted.

So he just sat there, watching as Maxwell did this and that, mostly taking things in and out of his one lonely chest and making a fire when the dusk colored the forest red. Watching Maxwell take a flint out of the chest made Wilson realize that he had forgotten Chester. But he knew the living chest well enough to know that it was probably doing a-ok there, sleeping and waiting like a good boy that he was.

After the fire burned happily and Maxwell had fed it enough logs, he just sat down and sighed deeply, crossing his long arms over his legs. Wilson licked his lips. He wanted to say something, but Maxwell looked very, very exhausted, and he didn't want to upset him by accident. He wondered if he should just say that he was sorry. He could leave it at that. He could just tell Maxwell that he was sorry, and then wait what Maxwell wanted to do with that information.

They sit there in the continuing silence, the world slowly getting darker around them, and the whole time Wilson gave Maxwell hesitant looks that the man ignored completely. At one point Wilson was almost sure that Maxwell had even forgotten he was there, until he accidentally made eye contact with the scientist and looked almost frightened, but then just returned to stare at the fire.

Wilson sighed and opened his backpack. Whether Maxwell wanted to acknowledge him or not, Wilson was getting a little hungry and could use the pretending-that-you-don't-exist-time by filling his stomach. He took the cooked morsel out of his bag and it had barely even time to reach his lips, when there was the all too familiar, heart stopping swooshing sound in the darkness and the distinctive smell of flowers that followed. Wilson jumped up, giving Maxwell an alarmed look (The night monster shouldn't be attacking, they had a light source!), but the older man sat on the ground and didn't seem to care about the terrifying noise's arrival.

Then behind them, a voice, a beautiful, feminine voice spoke with surprised, pleased tone that made Wilson's blood freeze in his veins and the hairs in his neck stood up.

"Oh, Maxy! You didn't tell me we'd be having a guest tonight!"


	18. The King and his Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson meets Charlie, who isn't too happy with Maxwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This chapter has elements of emotional abuse and gas-lighting in it.

Maxwell stared behind Wilson, a tired, little bit fearful look on his face.

"Is this your doing, Charlie? Please, I asked you to not do this again." he said quietly. He sounded disappointed at the person behind Wilson's back, a pleading tone in his voice.

"Oh, gosh no, I'm not that cruel! I promised not to do it, didn't I? I think what we got here is very much a real deal."

Wilson turned around, slowly, scared to see the owner of the sweet voice. He should have been relieved to see that it wasn't some horrifying monster of the darkness, not some creepy crawly that Constant was full of.

He should have been relieved.

Instead he was shocked, taking steps back and pointing his finger at a young woman who eyed him curiously.

"It's you...! You're the one who got me out of the... But...Why did you...How... Wh-why would you..." he tried to speak, ask for some much needed explanation, but it was difficult to find the words. He was too aghast to see the woman who both freed him from the throne and then rather violently send him back to the Constant. The woman (Wait, was _she_ Charlie?) only smiled at him. Wilson stared at her mouth agape, then at Maxwell, then back at her. Charlie let out a giggle and walked past him.

"You remember that? Oh, I do apologize for my behavior that day. You see I was a little... torn apart at the time, not really my best moment I'm afraid. But I am much better now!" she spoke with a honey-sweet voice and leaned next to Maxwell "Don't be rude now, Maxy, introduce us, won't you?"

Maxwell frowned and waved his hand in the air "Higgsbury, this is my old friend Charlie, the current Queen of the Constant. Charlie, this is Wilson Percival Higgsbury, you already know who he is." the man hurried the introductions and seemed to sink into himself, before muttering quietly: "...Wilson, I didn't realize you were not an illusion created by Charlie. My apologies."

Maxwell seemed to be disturbed by the fact that Wilson was really here, avoiding his eyes, but that didn't seem to concern Charlie nearly as much as it concerned Wilson.

"Well, Wilson, it's good to see you again! I'm glad that you haven't died yet, I always did like you." Charlie stood up, and with the sweetest motion stroked Maxwell's hair "I remember you were Maxy's favorite too. I always knew he had a good taste~" she crooned and lowered her eyes on the man who seemed to sink even deeper into his arms to hide behind.

Wilson frowned, watching her hand move softly on Maxwell's hair. She was being very gentle, but for some reason it send shivers down Wilson's spine. And how she kept calling him 'Maxy'. Wilson realized that he didn't like that she had a pet name for Maxwell. Quite the opposite actually. The scientist felt the sting of jealousy when that shortened name was said out loud with so much casualty in it, as if it had come out that painted smile hundreds of times before.

"So, you're the Queen now. What are you doing out here, then?" he asked, accusing undertone in his very polite voice. Charlie laughed, placing her hand over her chest.

"I'm here to help Maxy, of course! He just can't keep himself alive otherwise. Such a weak, sad thing. He always needed my assistance." she smiled at Wilson, whose frown deepened slightly.

"...Help him, how?"

"Wilson, I think you should-" Maxwell begun, but out of the blue Charlie slapped him with the back of her hand, making Wilson flinch back and Maxwell let out a hiss between his teeth.

"Now now Maxy, don't interrupt. Mr. Higgsbury has right to have his questions answered." she kept smiling and turned to nod to Wilson, and the young man swallowed, suddenly remembering that this was in fact, despite her sweet exterior, the woman who attacked him before. Who's to say she won't attack again. 

"Poor Maxwell, he is so weak. So frail. One misplaced hit, and it could all be over. But with the help of his shadows, he can be much more useful, get things done, keep himself alive. But there is only so much nightmare fuel in this world, isn't there, Maxy?" She tilted her head towards Maxwell, who nodded silently.

"And it is rather hard to come by. The resources will run out eventually, the flowers will wilt, the graves can only be dug once, the pigheads won't always be found in time of the full moon. But there is a way to get the fuel endlessly, isn't there?"

Another nod.

Wilson looked at them both, gears running in his head. Charlie looked at him expectingly.

"You mean... the crawling horrors? And terrorbeaks?" he asked, not liking where this conversation was headed. He knew that the fuel came from shadow creatures, he was not an idiot, but being insane enough to see them always horrified him.

"Correct! But unfortunately, you can only get to them when you are not doing very well in the head. I remember you dying more than once because your head couldn't handle all of this horror" she smiled at Wilson, almost apologetically, until she continued stroking Maxwell's hair "And poor Maxy, he is too proud. Too rational. Too good at keeping his head in check. I suppose that it's something that happens when you are too full of yourself and are used to playing with the minds of other's, isn't it?" Her voice was getting only softer, even amused, but Wilson could detect a dangerous tone between the smiles and tender touches.

"You see, I made a little deal with Maxwell. He needs the nightmare fuel, and he needs it a lot if he is going to survive all by himself, so I will help him get it. Even though, he doesn't really deserve any help after all he has done. Aren't I right, Maxy?" Charlie leaned down and took Maxwell's head in her hands, looking at him with puckered lip as if she was sad. Maxwell faced her shortly, but quickly looked down.

"...Yes." came the weak answer. Charlie seemed content and rose up, straightening her back and leering down at Maxwell who was hanging his head.

"I am far better to you than you ever were to anyone. Honestly, it was almost sad to watch you trying to pretend that you knew what you were doing. We all know that you were always just trying to be something that you were never meant to be. You were a pathetic magician, a pathetic King, and now you are a pathetic survivor. I am curious to see what kind of role you'll try to fit in next." Charlie's words were filled with poison, but she kept petting Maxwell's hair slowly and softly. It made Wilson's stomach turn.

"How can you say that?" he gasped, unable to truly comprehend the weird situation he was suddenly part of. This seemed mean. What kind of an 'old friend' would speak so maliciously at someone they supposedly cared for? And Maxwell wasn't even trying to defend himself against it.

"Aren't you supposed to help him?" Wilson questioned, warily, his mistrust towards the woman growing stronger every second.

Charlie only laughed, cocking her head "I am helping, sweetheart! This is what Maxwell wants. He needs the nightmare fuel, so he begged my help, and I so generously promised to make sure that he will have all the fuel he needs. I can make sure that his spirits will be crushed, his mind will be broken, and his heart will be shattered until he is so down low that he has access to all of the precious shadow creatures he needs!"

Her laughter calmed down, and she cleared her throat with ladylike manner.

"So what do we say, Maxy?"

"...Thank you."

"Yes! Honestly, you can't even be grateful enough to thank me for the help you don't even deserve? How low can you sink? How much do you have to hurt me before you are satisfied?"

Maxwell shot his eyes up, horrified "I-I don't-"

"Are you going to say you don't mean to hurt me? That you never did? Are you going to say that you are sorry and you never wanted any of this? It hurts me even more that you are still trying to lie to me... Oh, does your favorite little toy know why I am here in the first place?" Charlie glanced at Wilson. Wilson tried hide his curiosity, if only to spare Maxwell's feelings, but Charlie must have seen the glimmer in his eyes when he thought, in some part in the back of his mind, that he might finally get to know something new about Maxwell.

"Should I tell him, Maxy?"

Maxwell lowered his head again, gaining one pat on his head from his former assistant.

"Maxwell dragged me in here with him, and then he watched as I was turned into a monster, morphed into a mindless creature who tried to hang on to their humanity with no use. I became a permanent part of this place and suffered for ages, while he sat on his throne and played his little games." she spat, finally breaking her kind facade "Go ahead, tell your darling Wilson that it's not true. Tell him, I'm sure that wouldn't be the first time you've lied to his face."

Charlie finally walked away from Maxwell, and the man brought his hands to his temples. Wilson wanted to walk to comfort him, but he was mesmerized by the Queen who walked around the firepit, examining the camp with unimpressed face. There was something in the woman that made him feel like he was under the spell of some kind, unable to remove his curious yet terrified attention from her.

"Did you really think that anyone would let you forget about what you have done?" Charlie asked, now back to her sweet act, not bothering to look Maxwell as she walked "Did you think that maybe you could be forgiven, have some new friends, be someone better than what you are? Did you honestly think that you deserved that, after everything you did to me, after everything you did to them?" Charlie spoke very softly, lovingly even. The fact that her words were daggers wrapped into soft silk made the whole thing feel a way too twisted for Wilson to comprehend.

Charlie walked beside him and stopped, bringing her hand to gently caress his cheek, and Wilson couldn't move away "You poor thing. Maxwell did so awful things to you, didn't he? He played with you like a careless little kid plays with the ant and magnifying glass. He put you under so much pressure, so much suffering. So much has been taken away from you. And for what? So you could take his place? So you could be his own little plaything for all the eternity?" Charlie's voice sounded so genuine as she looked Wilson with compassion, giving him a joyless smile "It could've been worse, I suppose. He could've let _Them_ do to you what he let _Them_ did to me. I'm sorry, Wilson. I am."

For a second Wilson wanted to hug her. To wrap his arms around her and tell her that they were both going be fine, to comfort the small humane part still inside her, the part that understood Wilson and was truly being sad that he had to go through any of this.

But before he could do anything, she withdrew her hand and continued her circulating, and stopped next to Maxwell again. Wilson watched the older man trying to hide behind his hands, shoulders slightly shaking with what must have been either fear or grief. It was unnerving, seeing him this way, being taunted and just letting it happen. Wilson felt the sudden need to hug him, too.

"And look at you now, Maxy. How far you've managed to climb, only to always end up where you begin. Serves you right, doesn't it? You never fitted in, not on earth, not here, not in any other place you may end up in. You can try to keep going, but the past will never be behind you. There is nothing for you in the future, not anymore. You ruined it. You could've had it all, but you shattered it into pieces just because you were too selfish to care about anything else than what you wanted. Was it worth it, to throw away the future only for the fleeting moment of power? You have cruel hands, Maxwell. You destroy things you want and hurt people who get too close. You hurt us all, and you can never take it back."

Charlie knelt in front of Maxwell, wrapping her arms around him, hushing him softly as if she hadn't just insulted him "I know, I know. It's awful. That's who you are, Maxwell. You do awful things. You are awful, selfish and cruel man who cannot run from the darkness that's always been inside you. No wonder they didn't want you in their group. How could they? Did you actually think that anyone would want _you?_ "

Wilson had been quiet, listening Charlie's speech, how she mocked and belittled Maxwell, and he hadn't stopped her because it was clearly something between just the two of them. Something personal and deep. The old wounds, things left undone and unspoken. But when she brought up the group, the reason Wilson came here, the man snapped out of his awe.

"No, that's not true!" he almost yelled, and Charlie gave him a disapproving glare which made the short man snap his mouth shut. She brought her hand under Maxwell's chin and lifted his head up, so she could look him eye to eye.

"The spring is coming. Why won't you be a dear and check the traps before the rabbit holes collapse? Maybe you will find some beardlings there." She spoke softly and smiled, taking Maxwell by the arm and pulling him up. Maxwell's eyes were glazed and his mouth was frozen in thin, tight line. He looked like he was only a few second away from complete breakdown, his whole demeanor lost and hopeless. Charlie smiled at him, adjusted his suit and gave a small sweep to the rose in his chest pocket.

"Go ahead. Don't worry, you know I wouldn't hurt Wilson. I'm not like you."

Maxwell nodded, offered her a polite smile and took his torch. He gave Wilson a fast glance before heading out into the dark. Wilson opened his mouth, ready to go after him, but before he could take even one step forward he was stopped by the yank in his leg. The scientist dropped his eyes to see a shadow hand grabbing his ankle. He froze, fear trying to crawl out of him, and he started taking deep slow breaths to fight against it. No, not now, not here.

"Just leave him. Maxy will be fine."

Wilson rose his eyes at her, narrowing them. He couldn't let himself fall apart now. Don't get scared, get _angry_.

"I don't know what has happened between you and Maxwell, but you can't treat him like that. It's cruel. There are other ways to-"

Charlie sneered and waved her hand dismissively "Of course there are other ways to lower his sanity, that's not the point. He wants me to do that. After everything I have gone through, he wants to give me what I deserve. I didn't lie when I said he begged me. Besides, it's not cruel if it's true."

"But it isn't! Maxwell is not like that, not anymore! I know he isn't! Now he actually cares about people, he is-" Wilson tried to make her see, make her understand that things weren't the way they used to be, but the Queen only laughed.

"Oh, Wilson. Ever the optimist, always the gentleman" Charlie purred, smiling dangerously "You really forgive easily, don't you? What he did to you on the throne, what he did to you after it. How he lied to you, used you, how he took advantage of your situation when you needed him the most-"

Wilson's eyes grew wide and he took in a small gasp.

"...He- he told you?" he whispered, feeling a weight land over his heart. No, Maxwell wouldn't have, he promised not to, he promised, he promised Wilson he wouldn't tell.

"He didn't tell me _why_ you were being very needy and grabby all of a sudden, but he sure told me a lot of things after that." Charlie chuckled, raising her hand on her cheek.

"Oh, you should've seen how he cried when he told me. How he wanted to help you, how he wished that he could make you happy instead of always hurting you. He told me how much you hate him, he knows he deserves it, and he tried to remember why he could never mean anything to you, but deep inside his cold and petrified heart he has always been a dreamer, always wanted things he cannot have. And he tried to change, he tried to be something you wanted him to be, he tried so hard to live up to you, but in the end he couldn't pretend to be something he is not."

Wilson was relieved that Maxwell hadn't told Charlie about his secret, but he felt a new, heavier weight replacing the last one. Charlie hummed in a high-pitched tone, like a giggle with her mouth shut. She was clearly enjoying this.

"He sounded so heartbroken when he told me that he _knew_ how bad it was that he used you. He knew that you only wanted the comfort from him, that you chose him because there was _nobody else_ to choose, that you didn't really want _him_ , but he still pretended that you cared. That there was something more to it than just helping you out. Crying doesn't really suit him, I have to say. It was almost pitiful to watch him pour his heart out when nobody wants to listen. And he still did, poor devil. He wanted you so badly and that was the only way to have you, so he took it. A very horrible thing to do, isn't it? But don't worry, he isn't going to do it anymore. He knows you despise him, he knows he isn't anything in your eyes, and he knows there is nothing he can do to make things up to you. He has given up on it already. But get this; he still asked me to destroy that little swamp for you, just to protect you even a little bit more. As if it would change anything. He is a real fool sometimes, I must say."

Wilson swallowed, feeling the empty void growing under the weight "So it was Maxwell...?"

"Technically it was me, but yes, it was Maxwell's idea." Charlie sighed, smiling faintly "I think you broke him, Mr. Higgsbury. Maxy has always been so dramatic, going way overboard to prove himself. I should probably be jealous that I have been replaced."

Wilson lifted his head, his blank stare meeting the fluttering dark eyes.

"...What?"

"Oh, no, don't worry, we were _not_ an item. Though he really wished we would've been, back when he was still human. But never mind that. It's useless to try make things right with him. You should know by now that he would rather die than let someone know they have wrapped him around their finger. It's funny how long it took for him to notice that out of all the people, _you_ managed to broke him." she sighed, rising her eyes up to the black sky and falling silent for once.

For a while there was no other sound than the fire rattle. Wilson didn't know what to think. He felt disgusted, awfully cold and angry. The anger was steadily rising above the other emotions. He never wanted this to happen, not even when he snapped at Maxwell. This was... Wilson wrapped himself underneath his arms, biting his lip. This was just wrong. Had Maxwell gone through this the whole winter with Charlie? The Queen of Constant felt so confident, it was no wonder she crushed Maxwell so effortlessly, especially if they had been friends in the past. The way she clothed her sharp and venomous words into sweet and tender voice was almost terrifying. She must be more than angry with Maxwell. There was some deep-rooted hurt and spite inside her that Wilson could relate to, but he knew better than to give in to those feelings. He didn't know if what Charlie said was true or what she had gone through, but he knew that he came here to make up with Maxwell and he wasn't going to leave until he did. And nobody, not even the Queen, could stop him.

"He thinks you want to kill him."

Wilson shot his head up in disbelief.

"What?"

Charlie lowered her eyes back to him.

"He told me that you wanted it for a long time, but you never could bring yourself to do it. He wants to finally give you what you deserve."

Wilson's face turned into grimace.

"I won't do it. I came here to make amends."

Charlie let out a light, so genuinely surprised laugh that it caught Wilson off guard.

"You always were a good man, Wilson. But you can't right someone else's wrongs."

Wilson only glowered at her "I won't let you hurt him any further."

"Maxy truly has a good taste. You always manage to make things a tad bit more interesting." she snapped her fingers, and the shadow hand let go of Wilson. The scientist let out a shuddering breath he had been holding and relaxed, only a little.

"By all means, do your worst, it might even be funny. But I doubt it will make any difference. After all-" she walked past him, lightly running her finger over his cheek, before she stopped right at the edge of darkness, and turned her head to face him "-The King is nothing without his Queen."


	19. A long overdue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell is determined to make Wilson leave, and Wilson is determined to take Maxwell with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This chapter has violence, suicidal behavior and elements of noncon in it.

Wilson found Maxwell at the edge of the field filled with traps. The taller man was emptying them and murdering the screaming rabbits inside without a flinch. Wilson walked straight behind him, standing there for a second before clearing his throat.

"Can we talk now, please."

Maxwell let his shoulder's drop with a deep sigh. He didn't turn to face Wilson.

"I don't think there's anything for us to discuss."

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose - a motion that happen a lot around Maxwell. Of course Maxwell didn't want to talk. When had he ever? Except when he got the change to ridicule and taunt Wilson for every single little damn thing ever. But no, having a simple conversation to clear up some bad misunderstandings was clearly a way too much, obviously. But Wilson had already decided that they were going to have this talk, and he didn't spend half of the winter all alone looking for the other man just to leave things hanging.

He took Maxwell by the arm, opening his mouth to speak. Maxwell yanked himself away immediately, startling Wilson, and turned to scowl at the shorter man.

"How hard it is to get it through that thick skull of yours that there is nothing to be said anymore? You've made your point, I've made mine, we can merrily go our own separate ways now!" The tall man pointed his finger at him, clenching his teeth.

Wilson shrunk down, feeling his anxiety crawling back, but he forced it to stay on the background. He had to keep himself together now. He shouldn't be intimidated by Maxwell anymore, not after everything that has happened. He knew Maxwell was not going to hurt him, he knew it, he knew, he knew.

"No." He forced his voice come out firm "I won't leave until we have talked about things." he gave Maxwell a scowl that challenged the man's own. The magician grunted and turned around.

"Fine! Then I will. Good day, Wilson." Maxwell snarled, but couldn't get very far before there was a stubborn hand grabbing his suit. He turned to eye Wilson, who stood in place, hands around his arm.

"I said no. We will talk. I'm sick of guessing what's going on and having to make my own conclusions! Well, not this time. This time I want to actually talk! Why is it so difficult for you to make things right?"

Maxwell couldn't help but roll his eyes and cringe. Wilson just didn't get it, he was too kind-hearted to let things be. He always just had to be a gentleman and make things right, the way he thought things should be. He was so annoyingly, disgustingly good person.

"Let me go, Higgsbury. I won't warn you again." Maxwell said with a low voice that made Wilson lose his stern look for a second, but the short man soon regained his posture and only tightened his grip. Maxwell took a deep breath and closed his eyes "Don't say I didn't warn you, pal."

"What do you-"

Wilson couldn't finish his question before Maxwell violently pushed him away, almost falling on the ground himself too, but he managed to keep his balance and took Codex out of his suit. Wilson had hardly any time to react before there was two shadow duelist standing between him and Maxwell, rising their swords at him. Maxwell scowled at his shaken expression.

"Oh, don't look so surprised. You know I never play fair" he muttered and turned to walk away. He could hear Wilson shouting, and the shadows blocking his way to him. There were sounds of the starting fight. Maxwell walked slowly. He knew he couldn't kill Wilson, he had become soft around the man, too soft for his own good. He just had to keep Wilson away. The man would realize that he was a lost cause and leave, hopefully for good. Maxwell wasn't in the mood of tearing any scars open only to justify Wilson's need to always do the right thing. Didn't he realize that he couldn't do the right thing with Maxwell? You'd think he would have learned his lesson already.

Maxwell bit his lip and exhaled tiredly. Why did it always have to come to this? He was getting tired of letting Wilson down. Why did the idiot have to come here, why did he have to have so big conscience, why couldn't he just act like a normal person and give up on Maxwell? What was he thinking he'd even gain from this? A reassurance that he wasn't an asshole because he had at least tried? A good feeling that he had been a bigger man by coming to make things right? Was it really so damn important to Wilson to be a good person, that he couldn't even live on because he ended up in bad terms with someone?

Maxwell flinched as he accidentally bit through his lip. He carelessly wiped the blood on his hand, then stopped to examine it for a moment. He remembered the first time he had gotten injured here. He had been genuinely shocked that he still had blood in his system, since it felt like he had been living in the darkness of the throne for so long that the only thing running through his veins by now must've been the shadows. But no, there was still blood. A small reminder that he was still alive.

He sighed and kept walking. He really wished to just stop being alive altogether. It would've been for the best, for everyone. They'd get to permanently be rid of him, never have to see him again, never have to hear his voice again. They'd finally get their justice, finally get to forget and move on. And for him, it'd be a way to finally escape the hell he had build for himself. All the mistakes he had made, the terrible things he had done, the people he had hurt... he would be able to escape them all, forever.

But that was too merciful for him. He knew it. He knew he didn't deserve to find peace. There was no rest for the wicked. This was his righteous punishment, the fair judgement for the crimes he had committed. It didn't matter how much he would suffer, because he couldn't escape it. The eternity of misery and loneliness and hatred, that was his part to play. He wouldn't expect any less from _Them_ , from Charlie, from Wilson. From anyone, really. He only reaped what he had sown. And sometimes, for the shortest of moments that passed by him way too fast, he'd feel something warm inside, because he knew he finally got what he deserved.

"MAXWELL!"

The man stopped. Then, slowly, he turned around to see Wilson standing there, a spear in his hands, panting and gritting his teeth at him. The shadows were nowhere to be seen, and by the looks of it they gave Wilson a good fight before the scientist cut them down. Maxwell let out an irritated sigh. Why. Why couldn't Wilson just leave.

"You asshole! Were you _trying_ to kill me?! Well guess what, you won't get rid of me so easily! We are gonna talk whether you liked it or not!" the man in question yelled at him, his face twisted in outraged frown. Maxwell clenched his knuckles. Wilson really just had to make a bad guy out of him, didn't he? He just needed another reminder that Maxwell was not a good person, and no matter how much he tried, it would never change. Fine then, he had played the bad guy before. It sure wasn't much of a stretch for him.

"You seem to have already forgotten that I am not very trustworthy." Maxwell answered, but couldn't force the usual sarcastic edge into his tone. He summoned his own darksword and had to press his eyes close for a second to shook the whispering, moving shadows away from his mind. He was used to them by now and they would fade away over the course of the day, but he didn't want them to distract him. Not now, not when he needed to be sharp.

"Maxwell... please." Wilson sounded very tired, too. He sounded weary and a little bit annoyed "I don't want to fight you, I just came here to tell you that I am sorry."

Maxwell drew his sword forward and pointed it at Wilson.

"Well, what ever you think you did, you are forgiven. Now leave." he deadpanned and watched as Wilson moved his eyes from the sword to Maxwell's face, wondering if he should come forward. The darksword was far stronger than a mere spear, hopefully it would be enough to to scare the shorter man way.

"Do you actually just, not know what I'm apologizing for, or are you just playing dumb?" the man asked, taking one cautious step forward. Maxwell furrowed.

"I don't have time for this, I have things to do." he spatted, turning around.

"What things? I will help you out, it'll be much faster."

Maxwell turned around again, and frowned to see that Wilson was much closer to him again, the spear hanging loose in his grip. He wasn't even prepared to fight. What an idiot. Maxwell rolled his eyes, turning away yet again.

"I don't want your help." he muttered angrily. Wilson really was the most infuriating man he had ever met. Even his presence made Maxwell feel hot and somehow flustered and he hated that, he hated that Wilson had to be so great and he hated that Wilson was too merciful and he hated that Wilson couldn't just fucking leave him here to die.

Maxwell felt the fingers clawing around his wrist, and this time he didn't waste time giving warnings. He swung the sword, and Wilson stumbled back letting out startled gasp, only barely managing to block the attack. Maxwell aimed another swing of his sword which met with the handle of the spear.

"Why can't you just leave!? Why did you come here? Why do you insist on trying to talk when there is nothing to talk about!?" He yelled, swaying his sword with every new 'why'. If Wilson didn't want to understand, he would force him to understand. Wilson was doing well with avoiding the attacks, but he was holding back his own, only raising his spear to block the sword. It made Maxwell even angrier. Wilson didn't seem to notice.

"Really? There's _nothing at all_ to talk about? Not anything you regret, anything you want to make clear, anything you wished you had said??" Wilson spat back, giving him those pleading eyes again. He dodged the new attack by quickly jumping behind the tree that the sword sunk into "Because I have a few things in mind that I'm sure would do us both good to hear!"

Maxwell growled, yanking the sword free from the tree trunk. He didn't want to hear it. He couldn't. He didn't want Wilson to be nice and understanding when it was so painfully obvious he did it out of some distorted need to be a gentleman. Wilson didn't do this because he cared about _Maxwell_ , he did this because it was _the right thing to do_. Maxwell didn't want to hear some half-hearted attempts to make things right, he didn't want to stand there and let Wilson make another mistake by trying to make something out of nothing.

"Well I don't _want_ to hear it!" the taller man scowled and tried to reach at the same side of the tree with the scientist who kept circling around it avoid the deadly shadowsword.

"Why?! Why is it so scary for you to put aside that arrogant act for a while and just talk things through? What are you so afraid of?!"

"I'm not afraid!" Maxwell could feel the crimson color reach his cheeks and he hated that his voice didn't sound as convincing as he wanted "I just don't want to hear you making excuses for the things that happened and and try to make things sound better than they are!"

Wilson paused only for a second to stare at him with abashed expression, but it was all the time Maxwell needed to yank his arm to send him on the ground on his back. Wilson crawled up and attempted to jump out of the way of the other swing, but this time he wasn't fast enough. The blade cut his cheek, leaving a red line on his pale flesh. Maxwell was almost sorry, but then again, Wilson had to be reminded that he was wrong about Maxwell, and maybe he even would leave and abandon this doomed quest of his.

The shorter man crawled backwards, fastly getting back on his feet and pressed the cut with his palm, hissing from the pain. Maxwell frowned. It was just a cut on the surface, but it surely seemed to disturb the younger man. He probably thought that Maxwell wasn't actually going to hurt him. Ha, what a fool.

"Can't you take a hint? I thought you smarter than this, really, Higgsbury." the magician snarled and held his sword ready to land another hit, waiting for Wilson to take his spear, giving him time to get himself ready to fight back. Wilson might have been dense and stubborn at times, but he was not stupid. He knew how to keep himself alive. The man in question grabbed his spear and held it protectively in front of him, frowning at Maxwell.

"I've learned well before that taking a hint from you is not always a good idea. You love to mislead people to wrong directions." Wilson shrugged and gave him challenging stare. Maxwell's frown only deepened, but he didn't bother answering.

"I just don't get why this is so hard for you to do, it's not like I expect anything from you! Why do you think I am here in the first place?" Wilson continued "I'm sorry, I said some things I didn't actually mean and I feel bad about it, I really do! I wanted to apologize to you because sure I was sad and angry, but that is no excuse to hurt your feelings too!"

Maxwell let out a bitter laugh.

"What 'feelings'? Oh, Higgsbury, I really have messed up that big head of yours, haven't I?" He grinned at Wilson, the grin he knew Wilson hated more than probably anything else about him, and it did it's magic again. Wilson gritted his teeth and scowled at him.

"Don't try me, Maxwell, I know you have way more feelings than you lead on. Also, my head is not big." the last part sounded very offended. It was almost funny.

"Bigger than your brain, it seems."

"You just have the answer for everything, don't you?"

"If you don't like answers, stop asking questions."

Wilson grunted and knitted his brows, taking a step forward. Maxwell had to fight the urge to take one back, and he rose his blade and motioned Wilson to strike first. The scientist furrowed deeper, glancing at the ground.

"I meant what I said, I don't want to fight. I don't want to hurt you, Maxwell."

The older man scoffed loudly.

"Oh cut the bullshit, Higgsbury. We both know that's not true. You're just avoiding getting your hands dirty so you don't have to sink in to my level."

Wilson didn't look so angry anymore, he was back at looking more worried.

"Maxwell... Do you really think that I want to kill you? Is that how little you trust me?" he cocked his head, giving the other man a sad look. His voice sounded different, somehow disappointed. Maxwell twisted a little, biting his lip. This was not heading to the outcome he had hoped for.

"You mean that you _haven't_ tried to kill me before? Because correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you have." he rose his eyebrow and Wilson blushed, lowering his eyes on the ground. Maxwell really hated this. He was making Wilson feel bad. He was hurting him again. He didn't want to, he really wished that the younger man would leave him be so he couldn't hurt him anymore. Please Wilson just _leave_.

"...I don't know what things Charlie has made you believe, but I don't want to hurt you. I swear. We both have done some regrettable things in the past, and yes, maybe I wanted to kill you a long time ago, but I don't want that anymore! I came here to tell you that I miss you and I am sorry that I treated you so badly, just... just come back with me and let me make it up to you!" Wilson shot his head up, looking almost desperate. 

Maxwell thrust his eyes close and grabbed his head. He bit his teeth together, raising his shoulders to his ears. He didn't want to hear this, he didn't want to hear how he had somehow twisted Wilson to believe that he had done something wrong, he didn't want to hear that Wilson was sorry... He shouldn't be sorry about anything, he couldn't be. Something was wrong and Wilson didn't know what he wanted, he just tried to do the right thing, he just tried to be a better man, he didn't care about Maxwell he cared about being a good person. There must've been something to make him understand, to make him remember, to make him see, there must be something to fix this...

Maxwell felt the gentle, unexpected and unwanted touch on his hand where he was holding his weapon, and noticed that Wilson had put his spear away. No, why did he put his spear away, didn't he understand that he was gonna die? Why would he do that, why would he let down his guard-

Wilson eyed Maxwell carefully, the man's dark eyes pressed tightly closed again. He wasn't surprised that he wasn't reaching the older man, he knew it would be hard, but he had hoped to make even the slightest breakthrough by now. Maxwell really seemed to be in denial, he ignored most of the things Wilson tried to say and only stuck to the one's that made things sound worse. Wilson wanted Maxwell to understand how much he missed him, how much he meant to him.

With a slow, wary movement he leaned up, hesitated for a second, and lightly pressed his lips on Maxwell's own. It was very innocent, very kind and pure, small gesture. Nothing dirty or needy about it this time, just the harmless yet meaningful little touch. Wilson just wanted to make Maxwell understand how much he meant to him, how deeply he cared. That his feelings were real and Maxwell was so much more to him than he thought. He wanted Maxwell to know that what ever bad blood had been between them, it was not there anymore.

Suddenly Maxwell let out a short chuckle. Wilson stepped back, giving him a questioning look. That was weird reaction, even for Maxwell. The said man opened his eyes and smirked at him slyly, unkindly.

"Oh, so _that's_ why you are here. The Little Match Girl is not quite doing it for you, huh?"

Wilson twitched back, horrified.

"Wha- N-no! No, that's not why I'm here at all!" he felt the blood rush to his face and his heart sank. Maxwell understood it completely wrong, that was not his intent! Why would Maxwell think that he... Oh no, now he thought that Wilson really was just using him... 

The other man just pulled Wilson closer, cupping his cheek and sweeping his thumb over the fresh cut on his face. Wilson bit his lip, carefully leaning to the touch. Maxwell only smirked at him. He looked so sad, even the smug grin couldn't hide the hurt he wore on his face.

"Good to know that I was good for at least something in my life. Let's get this done then, shall we, doll?"

Wilson opened his mouth to protest, but Maxwell pulled his face up, shoving their lips together. Had it been a different situation, Wilson would've been all over him- but not now, not like this.

He felt Maxwell pulling him even closer, his feet slightly leaving the ground so he had to grab on to his suit. The man didn't mind, pressing his lips on his face and Wilson almost yelped when he felt the warm tongue slip inside his mouth. He started to wriggle to get away, the heartbeat rising to frightening levels and cold sweat forming on his neck. Maxwell placed his hand on his back, and Wilson whimpered when the long fingers moved over his spine. It was a tender touch, but he didn't want it now. Not if Maxwell didn't understand why.

He managed to broke off the kiss and turned his head aside with a gasp while Maxwell continued kissing him, moving his mouth over his neck.

"D-don't, Maxw- AH!" All of the sudden Wilson was tossed backwards, and let out a sharp breath when he hit the ground, Maxwell crawling over him and kissing the side of his face.

"Maxwell, stop- I- ah..." Wilson threw his hands on Maxwell's shoulders, pushing him back, but the man wouldn't budge. He felt his heartbeat getting faster, the cold feeling swelling inside his gut. No, this was wrong, he didn't want this, not again, not now, not like this. There were images, feelings flashing quickly in his head. The filthy claws pressing on his hips and that damp, fishy smell, the groans and it was horrible, he didn't want to, he couldn't go through this again, no, not again, if it happened once it could always happen again, no, no no no no-  
  


"How many times do you need to get hurt before you finally get it?" the other man sneered, brushing his hair gently. Wilson thrust his eyes shut. It didn't feel gentle, not right now, not when Maxwell was ignoring his attempts to make him stop "You should've payed more attention to Charlie last night. I destroy things and I hurt people. Though luck, pal."

Wilson shivered, the tears starting to blur his vision. He felt his breath getting short, it was difficult to get enough air into his lungs, difficult to catch his breath, no matter how he gasped. Maxwell wouldn't really hurt him, would he? No, he wouldn't, Wilson knew he wouldn't, but why didn't he stop, why didn't he... Wilson couldn't stop the terrified sob exiting his mouth, fighting to get enough air, fighting to calm down his heart that threatened to burst out of his skin.

"M-M-Maxwell, p-please, plea-se sss-s-top!" He didn't know if he cried out of horror or the simple lack of oxygen inside his body "I-I-I know- you would- Wou-wouldn't do- do this, you are not l-like, like this, p-please..." he wept when the words left his mouth. He tried to force the memories away, to think that he was not there, he was not in the swamp he was not in danger why did Maxwell do this why didn't he listen why didn't he _care_?!?

Maxwell kept kissing his neck, one of his hands on his shoulder, pressing him down, the other in his hair. Wilson started to shake.

"P-please! I am sorry I made you do this before, I never wanted t-to force you to do something you didn't want to, I-I, I really didn't mean to-to just use you like that! Pl-please Maxwell please, I'm so sorry! Please don't... P-please..." his voice broke and he felt the tears start falling down his cheeks, the air felt thin and he couldn't stop shaking, couldn't concentrate, couldn't calm down...

Suddenly the pressure of the body over him lightened. He looked at Maxwell who had sat up, staring at him with confused, no, concerned look on his face.

"...What are you talking about?"

Wilson sniffed knitting his brows lightly, the unsure, thin breaths leaving his mouth. He took Maxwell's wrist on his hand, squeezing it tightly. He needed his anchor, he needed to tear himself away from this, to feel safe, to feel brave, _don't get scared, get angry..._

But he couldn't get angry. Instead he got sad. Sad that he had made Maxwell think that this was the only thing he wanted from him, the only reason why he cared about the other man at all. The only thing that Maxwell was good for.

"Th-the thing... you... when you said you'd help m-me, and I kissed you and then, and then I made you-" His heart beat like a drum, but it was slowing down now that he wasn't being held down, now that he could feel Maxwell's hand under his own. Now that Maxwell was there and concerned and caring.

Maxwell frowned. He placed his fingers on Wilson's shaking hand, and it was warm, comforting. His thumb swiped lightly over Wilson's wrist, and the younger man sighed. But the comfort of the touch was short lived when Maxwell pried Wilson's hand away from his own, gaining a scared, wanting whine from the other man. He stood up, taking his sword, and run his fingers on the shadowy blade. Wilson watched him cautiously.

"...You didn't force me to do anything. It's not like I didn't want it." he gave Wilson an apologetic smile and turned his back on him "I think we have talked enough."

Maxwell's voice was shaky, if only a smallest bit, but Wilson could hear it clearly. Maxwell stood there, back turned at him, playing his fingertips on the sword. Wilson stood up slowly, still shaken from the assault and swallowed. He took in slow, deep breaths, counting the seconds between them. He knew there was more to this than Maxwell was leading on. And this, this was not enough of anything for him. He moved closer to Maxwell, slowly slipping his hands under his arms, gripping his suit with his fingers. Maxwell tensed from his touch. Wilson pushed his head against his back.

"I understand if- if you are mad at me. I said some pretty mean things to you the last time we spoke. If I were you, I would be hurt too. Charlie told me what you told her, back when you left. I hope you know that I don't really think that lowly of you. Actually it's quite the opposite. I care about you, really, I do. I... I think I even-"

"Don't." the other man whispered, his body tensting up more. Wilson lifted his head. Maxwell shook his own and brought his hand to his face.

"I don't want to hear it. You mean well, but you shouldn't. Just let this whole thing go." his voice was hollow, it was exhausted and jaded.

"See, this is what I don't understand. You have changed. You are trying really hard, so why do you insist on being miserable when you could be happy? Is it really so hard to just trust other people?" Wilson tilted his head. He couldn't grasp why Maxwell had to always be difficult on purpose, why he tried so hard to be seen as mean and ignorant, why he couldn't let people see that he wasn't actually a bad person.

Maxwell shrugged.

"Do you think I have a choice? You've seen what happens if I make a mistake and someone gets hurt. Someone will always get hurt. I don't have anyone I can trust. Sooner or later the past will catch up to me, and that's when tables start to turn, and I'm not going to sit there and wait to see if anyone here has some kind of grudge against me. Everyone here has. There's not a single person here who doesn't have a reason to want me dead."

"Well, _I_ don't want you dead!" Wilson snapped, tugging his suit in desperate need to make his point. It only seemed to send Maxwell back to anger, and the man turned around and held up his sword in threatening gesture.

"After everything I have done to you, after everything that has happened, you're still trying to hang onto that lie!? Just stop! Stop trying to do what ever you think you're doing here! Stop being nice to me and just admit that you hate me! I know you will never forgive me, why can't you say it!? Just say that you don't trust me and you want me to die! Say it! I want to hear you telling me the god damn _truth!_ " Maxwell yelled, raising his sword to hit the shorter man. Wilson stumbled backwards, only to trip over his own leg and fell onto the ground again.

Within a second Maxwell had sat over his body, trapping him between his legs and raising the sword above his torso. He glanced at the side and Wilson's eyes followed carefully, fearful to look away from the other man. The spear laid right next to him, and the man realized it was within his reach. With a hasty movement filled with panic he grabbed it right before Maxwell swung down his sword.

The spear slammed against the sword with a crack, and Maxwell smirked, pulling his weapon back up.

"Looks like you're running out of luck. That thing won't last another hit. Better think quick, my dear Higgsbury." he chuckled darkly and raised his sword to deliver the final strike. Wilson's eyes widened. He could push his spear right through Maxwell, that would be all he needed to escape the death, Maxwell was so thin he could pierce his weapon easily into that pale, sickly body and it would be over...

As Wilson stared at Maxwell, deep into those pitch black, cold eyes, and he saw... something. A quick glimpse of something that was buried deep underneath, the same flash he had seen before. A dim hint of emotion that Maxwell was trying to hide, but what managed to sometimes scratch the surface, if only for a fleeting second. But it was there.

Wilson tightened his grip on the spear, and closed his eyes.

"I told you that I don't want to hurt you." he inhaled and pressed his chin on his throat "I like you Maxwell, I'm sorry that I-"

"Oh just _shut UP!_ "

Wilson heard the taller man yell and the sword swung down. He flinched, readying himself for the pain of the nightmarish blade that would pierce him in one strike, cut through him like a thin air. So this was it. He didn't want to admit it, but he really trusted that Maxwell wouldn't have done it. Well, he would rise again - death was gonna happen sooner or later here, he just didn't want it to be by Maxwell's hands. He bit his teeth together and waited for the inevitable.

But it didn't come.

Wilson waited, but it didn't. Then something wet dropped on his hand.

He opened his eyes, slowly, to see the point of the blade hovering only inches away from his chest. Maxwell grasped the sword tightly, as if contemplating whether to pull back or push down. He was shaking, and Wilson realized, as another drop fell down, that the man was crying.

"...Why can't you just let me make things up to you...? Why can't you let me do this one thing right in my life? Is this what you want? I'm going to kill you if you won't fight back, I'm going to... Just let me stop hurting you, just... fight back..."

Maxwell let the sword fall on the ground when he pressed his hands over his head, frantic, upset expression over his face.

"What's wrong with you? What have I ever done to make you think that I deserve any amount of mercy? From you, out of anyone? Why do you keep pretending that you tolerate me, that I am something to you? Is that how you want to hurt me? Is that how much you hate me? That you will just keep giving me chances and watching me fail and let everyone down for the years on end?" Maxwell sounded like he tried very hard to keep his composure, but his voice kept cracking and he had to pause to avoid the sobs getting audible "I-I am awful, I did awful things! I can't do anything right, why can't you just let me do the only thing right that I can? Just for once let me do something right..."

Wilson slowly crawled away beneath Maxwell and sat in front of him. He sat there for a while, watching Maxwell trying hard to keep himself together and still shaking, still sucking in the shuddering breaths. Wilson frowned and rose his hands to cup the other man's face, and felt the man lowering his head to hide inside his palms.

"I don't hate you. And I know you're not going to kill me, you're just trying to force me to kill you. You're trying to hurt me so I would hurt you back." he said, and Maxwell leaned away from him quietly. Wilson pushed his head on Maxwell's forehead.

"You know, I think the only one here who really hates you, is you." he heard Maxwell taking a sharp, shaky inhale while his shoulders trembled a little. Wilson looked down, a sad smile on his face "If you really want to make things up to me, then come back. Accept that I think you are better than you were before, and that I trust you more than you want me to."

"I really have messed up your head good..." Maxwell let out a sad chuckle, and Wilson felt his palms getting wet where the small droplets met his skin. "You... you will realize that you are wrong, one day. And you will get hurt again. I- I don't want to hurt you, don't put all this trust on me because I'm just going to break it, and you will end up hating me even more than you do now..."

"Maxwell, do _you_ hate _me?_ "

Maxwell looked up at him, and Wilson felt his insides twist. The magician's face was messy, the tears smeared over his cheeks and the bright red lines surrounded his wet eyes. Charlie was right, crying really didn't suit him.

"...W-what?" the man asked with dumbfounded tone. Wilson frowned, looking down on the ground. he felt the blush trying to sneak it's way back to his face.

"I was afraid that you would. After I never even thanked you for everything you did for me. That's was kind of messed up from my part. You really mean a lot to me, you know. I'm sorry that I said you're as good as dead and that nobody would miss you. Turns out, a lot of us do." Wilson stroked his fingers calmingly over the other's face "So, thank you. And sorry."

"I..." Maxwell started, but closed his mouth and hung his head down "Why are you telling me this?"

Wilson sighed. There was definitely a deep rosy color on his face now, and he was glad that Maxwell didn't look at him at the moment.

"Because I think I... I... I am... kind of fond of you, in a... very special way... you... do you uh, know where I'm getting at...?" Wilson swore he had never had to tell anyone anything more terrifying than this. Maxwell didn't raise his head or say anything, so Wilson licked his lips nervously and continued, feeling the fluttering sensation in his stomach "You know I... Well, I always, uh... Look, I-I'm afraid that you will punch me if I say this, so please don't, okay?" he removed his hands from Maxwell only to press them over his own face. This was embarrassing. He felt like a little kid on the schoolyard and suddenly the world seemed a whole lot bigger and scarier than before.

Maxwell finally looked up, an odd look on his face as well.

"Just spit it out, Higgsbury."

Deep inhale, slow exhale.

"I think I'm in love with you and it started when you spoke to me through that radio so it's not really a new thing okay I was just angry before please don't hit me!" the scientist blurted out and tensed up, preparing to get his ass kicked. The silence fell upon them, and it was the longest, most strangling silence Wilson had to ever live through. He could feel his heartbeat on his throat and his hands started to sweat. Maxwell was really silent, and Wilson could imagine how disgusted he must be, it wouldn't really be a new reaction to this kind of confession.

"...Oh." The answer finally came, and it jolted Wilson out of his hands, staring at the other man in shock.

" _'Oh'??_ I tell you that I have feelings for you and all you say is _'OH'??_ " His mouth fell open and he stared at Maxwell in confused disbelief. The magician turned his head away, avoiding his eyes. He didn't look like he was disgusted, which was a good thing Wilson supposed, but he didn't look glad about it either. He looked sad.

"I thought you liked the pyromaniac." the man mumbled, a little bit of pink color raising over his face as well. Wilson blinked.

"What, Willow? No, why'd you think that?"

"Well, you were kissing her when I left, so I just assumed." Maxwell shrugged, hurt in his voice. Suddenly the understanding hit Wilson like a lighting.

"OH. You saw- You thought that- Oh, no, nonono!" he took Maxwell by the shoulders and stared at him with horrified expression "I tried kissing her because it felt good with you and I was so hurt that I thought that maybe it would be as good with Willow, and I thought that I could force you away from my mind if I just replaced you but it didn't work either and oh my stars I realized just how bad that sounds, no wonder you hate me." Wilson lowered his gaze. It _did_ sound pretty bad when he put it like that. That he just switched Maxwell to someone else without a second thought, as if he didn't even care. Oh god, he was a horrible person.

Maxwell just sighed deeply.

"I don't hate you." he rubbed his hand over his eyes. He seemed tired and exhausted and done with this whole thing. Wilson swallowed, grabbing his suit on his hands.

"So, if you don't hate me... What do you think of me, then?" his voice was barely audible. Maxwell tried to pull away, but the younger man tightened his grip "Please. I don't care if you don't like me, I just have to know."

Maxwell closed his eyes and sighed again. He slipped one hand behind Wilson's neck and pulled him closer, placing his head on the younger man's shoulder, and Wilson let him.

"...Why would you like me? I can't believe how long I have been hurting you. I did awful things to you, I made you suffer, I let you die, how, how could you ever look past that? I will just keep doing it. Charlie is right, there is nothing for me in the future, I don't deserve this, I don't deserve you, I... I deserve nothing good, I'm only going to hurt you..." his voice got quieter until it became a whisper. Wilson wrapped his hand around Maxwell, squeezing him tight.

"Maxwell, please, let's just go back. I don't know what has happened between Charlie and you, but I won't end up like her. If you want things to get better, then come back. You can't make the past go away by staying here and beating yourself up about it, it won't change anything. Just, let me make things better with you. Come back with me, please." the man whispered, leaning against the other.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't, I trust you. We can work things out together."

Maxwell pulled him closer and Wilson was sure the man was crying again. He pressed tightly into his arms and closed his own eyes as well.

"Let's just go. It's been a long winter."


	20. A Rabbit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson and Maxwell are making their way back to the camp, and have a some time to get to no each other a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilson and Maxwell are just being depressed idiots in love.
> 
> WARNINGS: A little bit suicidal thinking here.

The fire rattled in the darkness, lonely and small and barely providing any heat. Wilson stared at it, occasionally feeding a twig or two to the flames. The night was quiet, too quiet for his liking, except for the campfire and Chester's sleepy panting every once in a while.

The scientist glanced next to him where Maxwell laid on his side. Wilson still couldn't understand how he could lay so still, he really looked like a corpse. Well, after the rough winter, even more than before. The younger man had to resist the urge to poke him to get any sort of reaction to make sure he was in fact still alive. Wilson was glad that the man was sleeping for a change. Maxwell had been very quiet the whole time on their way back to the base, and even when Wilson insisted that he could keep a watch at nights, the man either didn't want to or couldn't go to sleep.

But the weariness had finally won over the other man, and now he was sleeping on the straw roll next to Wilson.

The younger man smiled, running his finger softly through Maxwell's hair. He wanted to think that things would be fine. They were halfway back to the base, and things had been running smoothly for a change. Well, except for one hound attack which felt mercifully short and was easily handled by nearby pig villagers.

One thing worried him a bit though. For one reason or another, Charlie had not shown herself after Maxwell left his small camp to go back with Wilson. Not even a glimpse of the shady woman, not eyes in the darkness, not a floral smell, nothing. It should've been a good thing, Wilson thought, but he had a disgusting feeling itching on his back that the Queen wouldn't let things go this easily.

Maybe that's why Maxwell had been refusing to go to sleep too. Maybe he was waiting for Charlie, waiting for some sort of closure. As jealous as it made Wilson to admit it, he knew they had been close. Very close, maybe a little bit intimate even. There was something in a way that Charlie interacted with Maxwell that could only be explained by a long and complex history between the two. They had been friends. Partners of some kind. They came into Constant together.

It had been Maxwell's fault, somehow. Wilson dropped his eyes on the man sleeping next to him. It was something that haunted Maxwell, something that he wished he could take back more than anything. There was something about Charlie that hurt him too much for Wilson to understand, but he had a hunch. Charlie had said that Wilson had replaced her, that Maxwell had wished for them to be something more than friends, a long time ago. Losing a close friend was one thing, getting rejected was another.

It might have been a long time ago, but maybe the old wounds hadn't quite healed yet. Well, Charlie sure as hell seemed to make sure of it. Wilson scowled at the darkness as if it had personally offended him. She took a way too much pleasure from beating Maxwell down like that, reminding him of the mistakes that he had made in the past, making him think he would do more in the future, that he was already doing them. It seemed unfair and needlessly mean, no matter what had happened.

Or then it was just Wilson's jealousy talking, making excuses to be somehow better to Maxwell than she was. One of the two, he wasn't quite sure. Maybe he wasn't any better. But he wanted to be, he wanted to try.

Wilson stared at the fire until his eyelids started to flutter shut and he laid down next to the other man, curling his arm over him.

\---

Maxwell felt his whole body weighting him down. Every single muscle ached and his head felt heavy. Pain was tensing in his neck. He forced his eyes open, the morning sun bathing the empty camp in it's yellowish light. Well, almost empty camp.

Maxwell scowled at the slimy pink tongue hanging right in front of his face as the furball stared him down without eyes. He didn't understand what Wilson saw in that thing. The man hoisted himself up, looking around, a little confused. The campfire was out, light grey smoke slowly rising from the pile of ashes, Chester's eyebone laying near it on the ground. But no Wilson, not a single sign of the man anywhere, except for his strawroll on the ground beside Maxwell.

The magician blinked slowly.

Huh, so Wilson had left. Well, that was for the best. It's not like Maxwell had even wanted to go back in the first place. It's not like he was needed there. Like he was wanted there, anyway. He let the sigh out of his nose and picked up his own stuff. No use to staying here, then. He could use his time to find resources to make himself some kind of shelter against the rain and thunderstorms that the spring brought.

Maxwell turned to leave, but stopped when he felt the nudge on his leg. He lowered his gaze to Chester pushing it's head against his feet, letting out annoying barking noises.

"What." Maxwell snapped. Chester lifted it's head at him, large tongue lolling out of it's closed mouth, and somehow managed to look judgmental without a face. How, Maxwell didn't know or care, but it pissed him off.

"I'm not taking you with me. Stay."

Chester grabbed his pant leg in it's teeth. Maxwell frowned and started to shake his leg "No, bad, bad chest. Let go. Let go, let- Good. Now stay, sit. Do what ever you do when you are alone and leave me be."

Maxwell gave the orange furball couple of death glares to make sure it wasn't trying to follow him, and quickly fastened his phase to hurry as far away as he could, as fast as his limping leg let him.

Maybe Wilson did realize that Maxwell wasn't worth it after all. He had probably just been waiting that the man would fall asleep so he had a chance to sneak away. What ever inane whim made the scientist think that Maxwell was worthy of his good will in the first place had finally washed away, and Wilson had come back to his senses. Well, Maxwell was only relieved. That meant that Wilson was safe from him. The younger man had made the right, sensible decision after all, and Maxwell couldn't really blame him for it. The man had been through enough and deserved something better, and well, he couldn't really have anything better with Maxwell. Maxwell was awful.

Well, at least the morning was nice. The weather was warm, kind of, and the snow had melted away. Maxwell didn't really pay attention to where he was walking, but he had to stop when he came around a field filled with beehives. Normal ones, thank heavens, but in the spring their residents became aggressive too. Maxwell sighed and watched the red and yellow bugs buzz about the colorful flowers, the honey they dropped behind glistening golden against the bright green grass. It was a tranquil, beautiful sight.

Maxwell shook his head and picked a flower from the grass. Look at him, getting all sentimental about some insignificant scenery. He really had lost his edge. When had he let that happen? He wasn't even sure. He wasn't sure about lot of things anymore. Things had changed a lot, in many different occasions, and he felt like he had fallen out of the ride and couldn't keep up with things when they moved forward.

He felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for something, anything to stop him, giving him a smallest excuse not to jump, and the only advice the universe told him was "do a flip".

Well, it would suit him all right. He was good on the stage, good at making the show worth the money. But the curtains had closed, and he was left there standing in the darkness, alone, yearning for their love and attention. People loved things until they became useless, and he had been useless for a long time now, probably longer than he had even been alive. But he could do one last show, jump down from his metaphorical cliff. They would cheer and they would enjoy it. He could jump, because when there was nothing to stop him, nobody to reach out to his hand, to even try to pry him away from the edge, he had overstayed his welcome and people just loved to see things go out with a bang.

He didn't really know if he wanted to jump, though. In a way he wanted to live long enough to change, because he didn't feel like he was the same person anymore, and it scared him that he wasn't anyone new either, and he didn't want to die as a nobody.

If he wasn't in control of things, what was he? If he had to start anew, where should he start? If he wasn't the King anymore, who was he? Who had he been? Had he ever really been anyone?

He wasn't sure about that either. He wanted to travel away and start someplace else again. Change his name, remove his old self and become someone better. Maybe next time it would go like he planned.

Did he even have a plan back then? Or was he just blindly going along with the things as long as it felt good? Maybe both. Maybe neither. It felt so distant, like a dream he could remember, but the details were vague, varying, not quite in the right places, not quite the right color.

Time moved differently in Constant, but Maxwell was sure it had been years, maybe decades since their infamous last show before they ended up here. Maybe everyone he knew on Earth had died centuries ago, maybe millenniums. Did it really even matter to him?

Maxwell raised the small flower up and smelled it. It wasn't anything special by any means, but it was nice and sweet. And it didn't matter to him. It was already dead, he had picked it up and it would wilt away, just like the memories in his head.

He supposed that a lot of things had stopped mattering to him. Every once in a while there would be something that he really could say that he cared for, but he didn't know what to do with that, so he avoided it until it didn't matter anymore. But those things had still mattered to him at some point, haven't they? The little things in life. He couldn't change who he was, but he could pick up some bits and pieces from the man he had once been, the things he had buried away from himself. They weren't gone completely, just locked away very very deep, somewhere where they would stay hidden until he could remember what he was supposed to do with them.

"Maxwell!"

The man turned around, puzzled by the familiar voice calling his name. He saw Wilson walking (or rather jogging) into his view, calling his name, his hand cupped as a horn over his mouth. He called one more time until he turned his head and met his gaze.

"Maxwell" the man gasped and sprinted towards him. For a second Maxwell was ready to run away, taking a one frightened step back, almost sure that Wilson was going to attack him, because why the hell would he not? The magician wondered how much he preferred to rather get stung by the bees than let the man catch him, weighting his preferred way to go.

Before he was able to make his choice, Wilson crashed into him, clasping his arms around his body, and Maxwell stiffed, standing there confused and rather scared.

"Don't ever do that again!" Wilson screamed, frightened look on his face. Maxwell opened his mouth but didn't know what to say. Wilson continued, his panic slowly fading "Where did you go, why did you leave?"

"Uh, I... I thought _you_ left." Maxwell explained, gaining an astonished look from the other.

"What? No, I was gathering wood with the pigs. Why would I leave? If I left I would've taken Chester with me! Thank heavens that he knew where you went!"

Maxwell moved his eyes from the man to the furry chest who stood next to them, panting away innocently. He frowned at the creature. _Traitor_.

Wilson seemed to calm down now that he had found Maxwell and let go of the man, his arms falling down to hold his hands. Maxwell felt the tingling sensation run over the back of his neck when Wilson rubbed his thumb over his knuckles.

"Well, no harm done I guess. Come on, let's keep moving. I'd rather be at the camp when the summer comes." Wilson smiled tiredly, letting go of his one hand but not the other. Maxwell was too confused and tired to fight against it when Wilson pulled him along.

Although the magician had of course touched Wilson before, it was strange to feel the warmth of his hand on his own. He wasn't used to holding hands. And Wilson's hands were not particularly soft or delicate. Even before the hardships of Constant had roughened and dried his skin up, he probably had a lot of burns and scars on them from all his so-called science.

But his touch was soft in a different way. Wilson was always so careful when he handled things. He had a way to do things with so much care and gentleness, most likely also just a habit that carried over from his experiments and inventions that should be handled delicately (if he didn't want them to blow up on his face).

There was so many little things about Wilson. The way his nose wrinkled when he got irritated, how high his voice pitched when he got excited, his whiskey-colored eyes and the little shine in them when he sometimes got an idea, his unbelievably bad jokes and the self-satisfied way he smirked when he came up with them, how he was so eager to please people, how insecure he felt about his hair all the time...

Maxwell snapped out of his admiration when something small run into his leg again, yelped, and bounced past him. The man stared taggers at the brainless chest-creature.

"Sometimes I can't remember why I even made you." he huffed. Wilson turned to glance at him, then quickly realizing he was talking to Chester, and rose his eyebrow.

"You made Chester?"

"Of course I did. Though I must wonder what on earth was running through my head when I did. Damned, useless mutt."

Wilson gasped loudly and let go of his hand, scooping the damned useless mutt in question in his arms.

"How can you say that!? Chester is nothing but a sweet baby! Aren't you boy? Awent wuuu~" the scientist started to snuggle his cheek on the creature who answered him by covering his stubble in slobber. Maxwell gagged at the sigh which made Wilson chuckle.

"But that _is_ an interesting question, you know. Why did you make Chester? I mean, he is kind of like a dog, almost, but also a chest who carries your stuff for you. That is some weird thing to create."

Maxwell shrugged, turning away, feeling a little embarrassed.

"I guess I missed having a pet. And well, I recall thinking that the survivors could've used some company, a helpful one at that. Though in retrospect I should've made something less drooly and yipping."

Wilson's eyes shined and he slowed down to walk next to Maxwell, smiling in excited, gleeful way at him "You had a pet??"

Maxwell frowned, grasping his hands behind his back.

"What of it?"

"What kind of a pet? What was it's name?"

"A rabbit. I don't remember her name, sadly. I was a kid, it was a long time ago." Maxwell glanced at the other man, ready to defend himself, but Wilson just smiled dreamily, eyes half-closed and lowered at Chester on his arms.

"A rabbit" The scientist repeated with a soft tone, as if it was the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. Maxwell felt something tug his heart. It came with the warmth that spread on his cheeks and a shiver on his back. He cleared his throat and fastened his phase just to be ahead of the scientist so that he couldn't see the red on his face.

"Yes, well. Rejoice for the orange little trouble, I guess." he murmured, waving his hand towards Chester.

"Aw, he's not a trouble! I think he is just a perfect little sweetheart!"

"A perfect little nuisance, that's what it is."

Wilson laughed, and although Maxwell couldn't see his face, he knew the man was grinning. He didn't really remember when Wilson had laughed without some kind of pain in his voice. He let his lips curl into a small smile, too.

For a little while there was no speaking, only occasional quiet baby-talk when Wilson cooed to his pet chest. They walked past the field, the forest, the clearing, the village, the herd of beefalo, yet another forest, until they arrived on the particular place that Maxwell didn't remember seeing in a long time.

The man stopped before it, lifting his head up, watching his own face carved on the marble. It was falling apart, to put it lightly. It looked like it would rumble down from the single touch. At least he still had something in common with his lifeless counterpart.

He heard Wilson stop behind him, and he knew the younger man was looking at the statue too. Maxwell closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath.

Well, it wasn't like he didn't know the statue might be somewhere in this world, he had just hoped to never run into it again. Not that it was a bad sculpture, not at all, he could appreciate the art when there was one, but there was something rather depressing seeing it standing there now. It was another him, the one he tried to leave behind, but it would always find a way back to torment him, it seemed.

"Hey. Are you okay?" Wilson asked hesitantly. He was probably uncomfortable too. The ex-King didn't bother answering, shoving his hands in his pockets. What could he even say? Of course he wasn't okay, but he wouldn't say it out loud. He just walked past the maddening statue and hung his head.

"I'm mostly just surprised that Charlie hasn't destroyed it. Then again, she probably wanted to leave a reminder for me. What a funny girl."

"She is too cruel to you."

"She's not cruel, not really. She is actually one of the nicest people I know."

Wilson huffed behind him.

"Well, I'm not impressed."

Maxwell couldn't help but chuckle.

"If you had met her, _the real her_ , I think you would be. She was a very impressive person. A very sweet, kind, headstrong person. Her only fault was that she got too close to me, she got dragged into this mess because of me. She never deserved any of this. She has a right to be mad at me, about everything." Maxwell rubbed his head, feeling much weaker than a moment ago. 

He missed Charlie. He missed _his_ Charlie, not the one _They_ had mangled and mutilated and tortured just for fun. He missed her smile and her laugh and he missed the time when she wasn't the creature of the darkness, only guided by her anger and thirst for blood.

He felt bad for leaving her behind. Not that she couldn't just go where ever she wished and know exactly where Maxwell was, but he would've felt better if he could at least try to make things right with her. If he just let her take what she deserved and do what she had right to do, if he could endure the suffering long enough, maybe one day she would've forgiven him, maybe one day she could be freed...

"...I wasn't very impressed by ladies in general." Wilson's voice slunk it's way to his ears as the man shrugged.

"Pity. You missed out." Maxwell muttered, not at all bothered by the change of topic. He would rather talk about something else than Charlie. It just made him miserable.

"You... um, did you have, uh, anyone, before this?"

Maxwell turned around, rising his brows which made Wilson glance on his side nervously, hiding his chin on Chester, pink color burning on his cheeks. Maxwell let out a silent chuckle.

"I had, a few."

"...lady friends?"

"I never enjoyed limiting myself like that. There were few women that I liked yes, as well as men."

Wilson fell quiet for a while, looking at the ground. He had somewhat thoughtful expression on his face and he was knitting his brows together.

"Did you?" Maxwell asked, tilting his head at his way. Wilson looked away, mumbling something on Chester's fur.

"I didn't quite catch that."

"I said I had two."

"friends?" Maxwell mused nonchalantly, turning away.

"Not really, but they were like me, so... I don't know, I guess we were all just lonely. I don't think either of them liked me all that much, it was just sex."

"Pal, do you think anyone I knew cared enough to even get to know me beyond a week or two of casual dating?" Maxwell laughed sarcastically "I wasn't exactly a good company back then either. It's safe to say that not much has changed."

He hummed and fell silent again, ignoring Wilson's arguing of the quality of his company. Of course Wilson wouldn't understand, the poor man was obviously starved for attention, probably almost anyone would do if he got lonely enough. Maxwell shut his eyes. Wilson was just lonely enough to fool himself that he could liked Maxwell. He didn't, Maxwell knew it. It was only because they were here, and there was only so many people here to get attached to, and Wilson was just making a do with what little he had in hand. If he had a choice, if he wasn't trapped here, he wouldn't waste his time with Maxwell. He would never choose Maxwell under any other circumstances. He would understand that this was just some form of underlying need for affection, a way to grasp a hold of what little humanity you could still find in this place. 

Maxwell bit the inside of his mouth. Was he really going to entertain the scientist like this, play nice for a while until unavoidably letting him down again? He could. But did he really want to? Did he want to play along until something went wrong and someone got hurt, again?

No, the man decided, no he didn't. He was much better off alone, he had nothing left to lose when it was just him, only his remaining pride and worthless shreds of his life. But no, here he was, walking back to the camp with Wilson, as if he wanted to get into that mess again. It's not that he didn't miss people, he did, he missed feeling like he had at least some purpose in life, but he knew that he didn't belong there. And he knew that Wilson really wanted him to belong, but there were things that the scientist couldn't change. Things like Maxwell. He was already too far gone, too hopeless, too useless, nobody was trying to stop him from jumping, _nobody cared_ , it would only take one step over the edge-

"Hey, did you hear me, Maxwell?" concerned voice creeped into his thoughts and tore them apart. Maxwell opened his eyes and stopped, wondering how long he had been walking without even seeing where he was going. What he could tell from Wilson's voice, he hadn't been keeping up a good act. Damn, he needed to work on that again. It was easy to forget how to pretend when he was alone, he hadn't needed to mask his feelings for a long time. It didn't matter how he acted when there was no audience, after all. He didn't exist when there was no audience to see him.

Maxwell turned around to face the other man, who had his brows drawn together in concern. Wilson tugged his arm nervously, Chester now bouncing on the ground around them. Maxwell furrowed too, trying to collect himself.

"I'm... sorry, Higgsbury. I was lost in thoughts."

Wilson rose one brow, then sighed tiredly.

"I said that the sun is setting. We should make a fire before it gets dark, okay?" Wilson gave him the look, the look that was given to someone who was incapable and useless and needed constant directions and assistance. It was almost like giving instructions to a child. It made Maxwell shiver out of pure disgust. He truly had become even more useless than before.

\---

After fighting to get the fire started, it was almost soul-crushing when the first raindrops fell from the sky - and of course it had to happen at nighttime, of-fucking-course.

Wilson fed two extra logs to the flames, just in case, and hunched down next to Maxwell under the tree, that wasn't keeping the rain completely away, but was better than nothing. Wilson side-eyed the other man while rubbing his cold fingers over his arms. The former King stared into the darkness, looking drained and morose. Wilson wondered if he had said something wrong. Maxwell had suddenly fallen silent and after that the man kept zoning out over the evening. Wilson had to repeat himself more than once because Maxwell wasn't either listening or hearing him at all.

Wilson rubbed his neck. Had he upset Maxwell by asking about his life? The man didn't seem too bothered about it at first. Maybe he had worded some things poorly, Maxwell could find the offense in weirdest places sometimes. He should've been more clear, more specific that if he didn't think that Maxwell was a good company, he wouldn't have come to get him back. Maybe there had been some hint, something that Wilson failed to notice and Maxwell felt rejected, or maybe he shouldn't have told Maxwell something about himself, it's not like he was particularly interesting person.

Wilson sneezed, loudly, and excused himself with sniff and shudder. Damn this rain, humid air got into his system after the frigid and crisp winter. He wondered if Maxwell ever got sick. The man didn't sleep much, the things that drained Wilson's sanity in moments didn't seem to get to Maxwell at all, and the effects wore off much quicker. Maybe he didn't get sick at all, or it was so minimalistic that it went unnoticed. Then again, Maxwell could get hurt, and he _did_ get hurt a lot, and it didn't take much effort to cause it.

Wilson cuddled chester close to his body, trying to warm himself up. The wet fur didn't provide much heat, but it felt warm enough against Wilson's freezing fingertips. Chester really was a good boy, no, scratch that, he was the best boy. Absolutely, definitely and positively the greatest thing that Maxwell could've ever made. Wilson let a smile pull the corner of his mouth. Did Maxwell make Chester because he was lonely? He had a pet. A rabbit. But, he didn't keep Chester with him, he send it on the board, waiting for the survivor to find and take it with them. Was it mercy? Did he empathize with the crushing loneliness, being all alone and having no one who cared, no one who would be there when you needed? Maybe it was one of those things that Maxwell did out of some distant sense of kindness, giving them a friend. Wilson never really thought that Chester was something Maxwell created, something that he didn't need to create, but he did anyway, and he just left it there for Wilson.

"Thank you." The words left Wilson's mouth before he even recognised his own voice. It felt like it came from somewhere in the past, a little appreciation for something nice for a change. Although, he didn't really need to appreciate anything Maxwell had done, when you compared the small good things to many, many big bad things. Maxwell seemed to share his last sentiment, turning to look at him like he had lost his mind - concerned and suspicious.

"F-for Chester, I mean." Wilson cleared, turning his head away to sneeze again.

Maxwell sniffed, frowning, and turned away too. Wilson hunched over himself, eyeing the ground. He tossed a few logs into the fire until the flame burned big and bright against the rainy night. Even near the heat of the flames, the scientist could feel the shivers run through him as the drops hit his skin like needles and damped his hair, soaked his clothes. He didn't know if he had done something wrong, or if Maxwell was just being Maxwell again. Or maybe neither, maybe Maxwell was just thinking about something, lost in thoughts. Still, his silence unnerved Wilson.

The man hurled into himself, trying to fight the coldness that was not from the rain, but from the fear settling inside him. Maybe Maxwell did hate him after all. The man was always annoyed, always being distant and sarcastic. Was Wilson being selfish, pestering the other until he agreed to come back with him? He didn't own Maxwell, why was he being so possessive over him? Maybe Maxwell was just tired of him. 

Another sneeze.

And well, Maxwell never really answered him what he thought about him. Maybe Maxwell just, didn't care. Maybe he was trying to be a better person, but Wilson just wasn't anything special to him. Why would he be? He wasn't anything special in general. He wasn't anyone special. He wasn't some tragic past-lover with pretty voice and pretty eyes and pretty hair and pretty everything. Maxwell wasn't looking at him the same way. Maxwell wouldn't probably even miss him. Would anyone? He didn't really remember being anything special to anyone, ever.

Wilson tried to wipe his eyes imperceptibly and sucked his lower lip, feeling thankful for the raindrops that camouflaged his tears. Maybe he should just forget about this. Sure he already knew that Maxwell would probably never think of him the same way that he thought of Maxwell, but it still hurt. He had hoped. He had wanted to stay positive, but right now all he could think about was that he had confessed his dumb feelings to the other man and didn't get an answer, which was basically the same thing as getting a 'No'.

All of the sudden Maxwell let out a silent grunt and stood up, starting to undress his suit jacket. Wilson stared at him, baffled, until Maxwell sat back down and threw the jacket over his head, sheltering him from the rain and pulled him closer, so close that their bodies were touching. Wilson could feel the warmth radiating from the taller man, feeling comforting and soft, even underneath the wet clothes.

His mouth hung open, and he rose his eyes to look at Maxwell. The man didn't answer to his gaze, he kept staring nothing and shrugged, tightening his grip on Wilson.

"You're gonna catch cold like that." he muttered "And we're gonna get you a garland tomorrow. This wetness and darkness is doing it's damage to you already."

Wilson nodded, not knowing what to say, and just pressed closer. Maxwell did care, of course he did. He was right, Wilson usually got very down when the weather was bad, he was just being nervous over something that was probably nothing serious. The shorter man snuggled closer, pressing his head on Maxwell's chest. The other man didn't move away, and Wilson thought that he felt the magician shifting a little bit closer himself. The small smile curled over his lips.

"Maxwell?"

"Yes?" came the obviously exhausted but forcefully patient answer.

"Would you ever want to get another one?"

"Another what?" Maxwell tilted his head on his direction.

"Another pet." Wilson lifted his eyes up at him, pure curiosity on his face. Maxwell snorted.

"I don't need one. You're enough maintenance and work for me."

He got punched on the ribs for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk shit get hit, Maxwell.
> 
> Also Wilson, punching Maxwell is not always the answer, jeez.


	21. Just for the record.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson has tolerated a lot of things in his life, but even someone as patient as him will meet his limit somewhere, and Maxwell will just have to deal with it.

Somewhere over the early morning, when the darkness had slipped away, the rain had finally died down and Wilson had enough time to dry up a little bit before they had to keep going again. 

He did get his promised garland the first thing in the morning, and he made one for Maxwell as well, even though he knew the man didn't need it. He didn't dare to say it out loud in fear of bruising Maxwell's already fragile ego, but he just liked the way Maxwell looked when there was a bunch of colorful flowers on his black and grey hair. And even though the man wore the crown only for a little while, it made Wilson fuzzy and warm inside. The worry of the last night hadn't completely washed away yet, but it was wearing down now that he wasn't miserably soaking wet anymore.

They were getting close to the camp, Wilson speculated that if they didn't differ from the way, they would be there by the evening. He already missed the crockpot and tents and proper shelter.

They stopped only for a while, gathering food and more flowers. Well, Wilson did, Maxwell just stood close by and 'kept watch' as he worded it. Wilson didn't care that he had to do more work, he had gotten used to it, it was something that kept him sane more than often.

Pick a flower, repeat until you feel better, then start gathering food supplies.

Every once in a while he glanced at Maxwell, to see him just standing there staring at the distance, and then he glanced at Chester, who sat on the ground close to Maxwell, tongue lolling out and mouth half-open. This was a nice view if he ever saw one. He never wanted a big family, but he had learned to appreciate it here in Constant. There was something comforting about the fact that you were not alone, and if one person was wrong kind of company, you could choose who you wanted to spend your time with. The choice he never had when he was alone, neither when he was just with Maxwell.

Pick a flower, repeat, remember to stay away from prickly ones.

It was rather weird to think that now that he had a chance to choose his companionship, he still gravitated towards Maxwell. The older man wasn't easy to get along with, but neither was Wilson. He knew he could be really hellbent on getting his way, and he had the annoying need to always be right, and loudly prove that he was right, so he couldn't really blame Maxwell for the same traits. But maybe that was why they were so good at keeping one another in check, knowing how to keep each other safe and sane. And on top of that, when ever there were the small moments when neither of them had the energy to bicker and bite each other over every little thing, in those moments Wilson felt that they could both be more or less vulnerable together.

Enough flowers, now start gathering food, let's start with searching for carrots.

He could still hear the old whispers, the bitter and angry echoes from deep inside him, taunting, telling him that he was going to get hurt, that he had trusted in the past and it had gotten him nothing but pain. The whispers reminded him of the times he got humiliated, that he was broken and violated and it was someone else's fault, and he should grasp that feeling and let it flow until he had caused the same amount of pain and suffering that he had endured, but he had learned to ignore those thoughts. He never was one to dwell in the past, it held him down and prevented him from getting what he wanted. It was like a science; you just had to keep trying and trying until eventually things would fall in their right places, and it wasn't a bad thing to fail and feel bad about things, but those who never moved forward could never achieve anything they wanted. Wilson acknowledged that those old feelings might never go away, but that didn't mean he had to let them control him.

"Do they really miss me?" Maxwell asked suddenly, breaking Wilson out of his thoughts. He peeked up on the man, who was still facing away from him, not bothering to move. Wilson paused in the middle of his carrot-picking. Maxwell had been getting more and more anxious the closer the base they got, and it seemed to worry him that he had to see the others again. Understandable when you took his reputation into account, and Wilson knew that Maxwell was not, and had never been, denying his own wrong doings. It must've been stressful to live like that, being constantly aware how thin the ice was, how quickly the tables would turn.

"Sure, some of them." Wilson answered, cleaning the dirt on his knees. "Webber did cry a lot after you left, and Wendy was sending Abigail to spy on you because she was worried. Wickerbottom misses you too. I don't know about the others, but I'm sure they aren't all that glad that you left either." he assured, mercifully deciding to leave any part about Willow and her never ending anger-issues out. He could handle her later.

"Hmm."

Wilson walked next to the older man and placed his hand on his shoulder.

"And I missed you too, a lot." He gave Maxwell a smile that was meant to be reassuring, but the man seemed to get only more unsure and grasped his hand into fists, tensing up. Wilson sighed.

"Look. I know you think they will blame you for something, and that they are angry and don't trust you, but I will be right there with you. I won't blame you, I'm not angry, and I trust you, so you don't need to worry. I'm not gonna leave you behind." he squeezed the shoulder gently before returning on the ground to gather more food.

He wasn't going to make the same mistake again. He wasn't going to take any sides before he knew the whole truth, and he wasn't going to put Maxwell on the spot where he felt so unsafe that he was going to play the villain again. And Wilson knew that it was just a play, this time he actually knew it. Maxwell had this weird, if not a smallest bit annoying, defense mechanism that whenever he was in the danger of looking weak, even the smallest amount imaginable, he started to act as if he was just some evil mastermind pulling the strings and got really mean and snarky.

Wilson wasn't too worried. He knew that they would all come around eventually, they didn't really hate Maxwell, not even Willow despite of her aggressive nature, and they would learn to get along with him. He glanced at the man, but to his surprise and worry Maxwell was not standing next to him anymore. A quick scan of his surroundings showed that the man was walking a good distance away of him, hands in his pockets and hunching down. Damn. Wilson picked himself up and trotted after the other, puzzled by the sudden retreat.

"...Maxwell? Is something wrong?" he asked, feeling a bit uneasy. Maxwell only sighed and walked over to the big boulder and leaned against it. Wilson bit his lip, standing before the other man. Maxwell rubbed his hand over his face, and Wilson just watched, carefully, waiting for him to speak first. He didn't want to push Maxwell if it was uncomfortable to him. But the man stayed silent, eyes directed on the ground and breathing in steady, quiet manner. Wilson walked beside him and leaned on the boulder as well.

The silence continued, thick and filled with unspoken words that neither of them had said, but both knew were coming. Chester was wandering near, until it realized that they were not gonna move for a while and set to nap over the grass.

Maxwell watched the living chest laying on the ground. They were so close to the base now, too close to it. He had to make his move sooner or later, he couldn't prolong this much longer.

Maxwell couldn't shake the disgusting feeling away. He didn't want to do this. Wilson was too kind, too forgiving, but it was just part of his personality, something he just was. It was not meant for Maxwell. Wilson was not for him.

If Maxwell waited long enough, someone else would come through the portal, he knew there were more people in the Constant, it was only a matter of time before they would wind up here. Someone would come along, someone who would be better, someone who would treat Wilson right and someone who could do everything that Maxwell did, only better. Wilson wouldn't look back. He wouldn't hesitate. He would probably feel guilty, like the poor over-thinking bastard that he was, make some excuses and apologize so Maxwell wouldn't feel bad, and Maxwell would act like he didn't care, and it would be enough for Wilson to let go. Wilson would turn away and leave Maxwell standing on the cliff. Why would he reach for someone like him, when there would be someone that was enough, someone right and good and real. Someone who would heal the wounds that Maxwell had caused. Someone who deserved Wilson more than him.

At least Charlie would've just pushed him over the edge. Wilson wouldn't. Maxwell wasn't even worth the effort.

But before that day arrived, somewhere in the uncertain future, Maxwell knew he would end up hurting Wilson. He would do something bad, something cruel, and Wilson would feel betrayed and hurt. He was only lying to himself, lying to Wilson, again. Pretending that there was something in the place where there was nothing, pretending that Wilson's soft touches meant more than they actually did, pretending that his need for affection was something deeper than that. Pretending that he wanted Maxwell. It was a wrong thing to do. The man laughed internally. It was so wrong, and so very _Maxwell_ thing to do.

The silence went on.

Then there was a long, restrained sigh. Wilson glanced briefly up at his companion.

"Higgsbury. You don't see anything... amiss, about things, do you?" Maxwell's muttered with a husky, low voice. Wilson glanced back at the ground, shrugging his shoulders.

"No, not really." Wilson wanted to turn to face Maxwell, but he had a hunch that it would be better not to intrude Maxwell's personal space if he was already nervous about something. There was another long silence, the kind of silence that screamed to have any kind noise to fill the void, but Wilson just waited, patiently. There was usually a lot of waiting with Maxwell, if they didn't want to get into an argument that neither of them really intended.

Maxwell sighed and turned his head away, even though Wilson wasn't even facing him directly.

"...I was afraid so. In that case I have to make this clear to you myself."

Wilson turned his head ever so slightly up at Maxwell, filled with both confusion and something else, perhaps a hint of nervousness "...What do you mean?"

Maxwell didn't look at him, quiet for a second before speaking up again and lowering his head.

"You do realize that what ever it is that you think you're feeling for me, it's not actually real, right?"

The coldness washed through Wilson's body and his eyes widened. He dug his nails into his palms.

"What does _that_ mean? ...Is this because I told you I- Oh, no... Look, you don't have to worry about it, I'm not waiting anything from you, okay? You don't have to... I mean, I, I didn't mean that you-"

"No, Wilson." Maxwell turned to finally look at him again, face tensed in his usual scowling manner, but there was an unnatural emptiness mixed within. "It's not because of anything you did. You just won't notice it, and I really am sorry for what I did, believe me, I am. I just can't keep doing this to you."

Wilson felt the lump forming in his throat again. He turned to properly face Maxwell, shaking his head without breaking the eye contact. No, things were going just fine... Why did Maxwell have to do this when things were finally going fine again?

"What do you mean, Maxwell? What did you do? What... What can't you keep doing?" There was more fear in his voice now, the thoughts getting bigger and scarier in his mind, and the frantic, panicky smile rose on his face.

Maxwell winced, tensing up his shoulders "I really, really messed you up good, huh? You don't even realize it." The man attempted a smile that fell apart almost immediately "You don't really like me, you just need someone, and I have played with your head enough to make you think that someone is me. It's all because somewhere along the way I broke you. I have been so cruel to you in the past that the few nice things I do seem so much more kinder to you than they actually are. I don't know how or when I twisted you so bad that you can't even recognise the amount of manipulation I've done, but I don't want to see that happening to you."

Wilson kept shaking his head like it would undo this, make the things Maxwell said somehow become unsaid again. What did he even mean? None of that was true! Maxwell had this incredibly horrible ability to make Wilson question everything, the things he said and did, and he told himself that it was happening again, Maxwell made it sound reasonable even though Wilson _knew_ that what he felt was real, and it wasn't some form of codependency or loneliness just going to extremes.

Maxwell placed his finger under his chin, lifting it up. _Just like he did before he left_. Wilson's lower lip was quivering. No, why did Maxwell do this? Why did he have to always try to take everything away from Wilson? 

"You poor thing. I did so awful things to you, didn't I?" They were Maxwell's words, coming from his mouth, said with his voice, but Wilson could swear there was a quiet echo, Charlie's smiling voice behind his own. Wilson shook his head, clenching his jaw to keep himself clam.

"Don't do this Maxwell, not now" he managed to breath out without bursting into tears from the anxiety shaking inside him. Not now, not when they were so close, not when he was so close.

The small line appeared between Maxwell's brows, his mouth turning into a lopsided, joyless smile.

"Can't you understand that this is nothing more but a result of me playing with you? Is there really any reason to like me, after all that I have done to you? Think about it, Higgsbury. How long were you suffering here all alone, and the only human-contact you had was me? The only one you had was the one who hurt you the most? You were dependent on me. This thing where you think that you like me is nothing more than a result of your loneliness. I made you need me. You just developed feelings around that need, there is nothing more to this than that."

"I liked you before that." Wilson heard his voice come out almost as weak as a whimper.

"You might think that it felt like that now, but you are just trying to make the bad thing seem a little bit better. It might have been satisfaction, a comfort from someone helping you and flattering you, giving you attention, but you are trying to make it feel better than it was. Time can do weird things to your memories."

"I-I wouldn't have come looking for you if I didn't-"

"Oh, you would have. You are a gentleman, after all. I know you good enough to know that you can't leave anyone behind if you can help it, the regrets would eat you alive. It could've been literally anyone at all, and the result would be the same."

"Stop, please, I don't-" Wilson bit down the sob and rose his hands to hold the wrist Maxwell had under his chin, trying to keep him close, afraid, _so afraid_ that Maxwell would disappear, that he would walk away and leave, leave and never come back again. The man sighed, looking at him with apologetic eyes, looking at him like he was a poor, hurt animal that the man had to put out of it's misery.

And Wilson realized that he hated that. He hated that Maxwell was sorry for him and tried to protect him in the wrongest way possible and that he was in denial of the simple fact that someone in this world might actually care for him, and he hated, he absolutely _loathed_ that the man was trying to tell him how he felt. He was just done with this whole thing. Done with being scared and unsure all the damn time. He had gotten enough. The short man dug his nails into Maxwell's wrist, his worried frown turning into scowl of bitter anger.

"...You don't know a shit about me. You have no fucking idea how I feel, you don't even know how _you_ feel!" He glared at Maxwell with defiant eyes, yanking his hand away and stepping closer. To his surprise, Maxwell actually twitched back to step away from him, but Wilson grabbed his arms and forced him to stay where he was.

"I told you how I felt, and quite frankly I am offended that you insult me by taking that and making it seem like it was nothing. Do you have _any idea_ how embarrassing that is, to stand there and confess your feelings to someone when you have no idea how they are going to react?" his voice rose higher and he gritted his teeth, getting so close to Maxwell that he was practically bumping into his chest.

"Do you know how difficult it was to get my head back together and get a grip on things? I have to tell myself every single morning that this is going to be fine and I will get through this, I have to repeat the same mantra over and over until I am back on track, I have to take time to remind myself of what is real on daily basis because sometimes I sink so low that I feel like I am nothing and nobody cares, and I don't feel like _you_ out of all the people should be telling me how I feel!"

Wilson pushed Maxwell backwards, and the taller man landed on the ground with a painful sounding thud, but Wilson couldn't have cared less as he sat over the man and yanked him up by his tie.

"I am scared and sometimes I'm confused, sometimes I think that I'm drifted too far to get a hold of the things, but you know what? Then I tell myself that what I feel is not wrong, and I can choose to change, that changing is evolving, and nothing is immune to evolution, and if I have hated you at some point, fine then, but I don't have to hold onto old grudges and old loneliness if it only makes me miserable." Wilson snarled between his teeth and pulled Maxwell closer to him, glaring him down with all of his exhaustion and fear and insecurity. If he had to feel those feelings, he was going to bend them into his will and use them for something else than self-pity and -loathing. Maxwell was staring at him in quiet surprise and maybe even fear.

"... You haven't broken me, you never will. I may have lost bits and pieces of myself along the way, and I don't think I will ever be the same as I was at the start, but that's okay too. I will live. If I choose to let the past go, then I will, and you won't get to tell me how I should be handling the past that I share with you. I know myself, I know that I fell for you, and you tried to get into my head, but I always got you out! Trust me, I tried to fight the feelings I have, I didn't want to fall in love with a bastard like you, but I did, and when you weren't being an idiot about it, it felt good, and I'm keeping that feeling, and there is nothing you can do about it, _nothing!_ "

Wilson let heavy pants out, a little out of breath, and closed his eyes to take one longer, deeper inhale. Then he let his voice soften a bit, just enough to show the other man that he meant no real harm to him.

"I really, really fell bad for you. But I won't force you to come back if you really don't want to. It's not my place to decide. If you don't like me, then I just have to accept it. I know that you want me to hate you so it would be easier for both of us, but I can't change the way I feel, and neither can you. "

Wilson loosened his grip on Maxwell's tie and let out a breath that felt like it weighted more than thousands of galaxies combined "That's all."

There was no answer, no objection nor compliance, when the scientist climbed off of the other man and sat down beside him, taking slow inhales, like he had never breathed cleaner, purer air in his life. It felt good, to finally snap back without saying something insulting and getting the regrets later. He said nothing he regretted, nothing he didn't mean. He had done his best and sometimes you can't get what you want in life, and sometimes you lose, but that's fine, he reminded himself, closing his eyes and just feeling the nice, cool spring air on his skin. That's fine.

There was a movement, and he could feel Maxwell's tall figure rise to sit next to him. Silence, for once, didn't feel as much suffocating as it felt unsure. There was a sense of wait lingering in the air between them, something quiet and careful and fragile. But not bad, just a little peculiar and uncertain.

"You... You're sure you don't just think that because we're here? It's not exactly like you have a lot of options to choose from..." Maxwell mumbled beside him, with almost fearful voice. Maybe he was scared that Wilson was going to snap at him again, or maybe he feared that Wilson would actually agree with him. The short man just nibbled the patch of grass with his fingers.

"To be honest, I don't think I would've ever became friends with any of you if we weren't here. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly a social butterfly. I'm more like a hermit crab."

"... You don't _actually_ think that I could be of any use to you, right? You will grow tired of me when you remember what it's like to live with me, you won't tolerate all" Maxwell waved his wrist gesturing towards himself "...all this. You won't stop me from jumping, you-"

"Jumping? What the hell are you talking about?" Wilson turned to look at the other man, scowling. He wasn't surprised that Maxwell wasn't looking at him. Rather, the man was hanging his head, staring down on his feet and looking like he had said something he wasn't supposed to.

"It's- it's nothing. Forget it. Nothing worth thinking about-"

Wilson furrowed his brows, piercing his eyes through Maxwell, and the man actually _shivered_ "Well, clearly _you_ have been thinking about it, and you think that I wouldn't care about stopping you. I sound like an asshole."

Wilson was a little bit relieved when Maxwell huffed out a quiet chuckle.

"It's nothing important. Nothing you should care about." Maxwell had that annoying tone in his voice, the secret-keeping, avoiding and dodging tone. Wilson leaned a tad bit closer, grim frown over his face. _Nothing you should care about._ Should. Why was Maxwell so set on thinking what Wilson should or shouldn't do instead of what he could or _would_ do?

"...Max, you aren't... going to do anything stupid, are you?" Wilson didn't need to know the whole truth, didn't need the full context. He was smart enough to catch the morbid implication behind the simple words. He didn't need to hear the rest to know where Maxwell was headed with that thought. 

For a moment the man was quiet, until he sighed and shook his head, seemingly giving up on the thought, at least for now.

"No."

"You know that I care about you. You know that I won't leave you behind."

"I know, it... it's just feels wrong."

Wilson sighed. The quelled tone of guilt in Maxwell's voice did sting, to know how much he wanted everyone to hate him to justify his own hatred towards himself.

"It's not, though." his voice wasn't pitiful, not even sympathetic. Just calm, matter-of-factual.

"I will hurt you. I will ruin you. That's what happened to the last person I loved."

A soft smile curled on Wilson's face. It was just like Maxwell to try to sneak that word in the middle of the sentence and hope it wouldn't go unnoticed. Wilson understood. It was hard to come clean with your feelings.

"Well, every horrible thing imaginable has already happened to me, so I think I will manage. But maybe you could, I don't know" Wilson shrugged "help me to get better. If you'd like, I mean. I can help you to get better, too."

Maxwell let out a heavy sigh that sounded like it had been nesting inside him for ages, and the magician fell on his back, rubbing both of his hands on his face "I don't know if I can help anyone. I don't know how to be nice anymore."

"Have you ever?" Wilson joked and leaned to lay down as well.

"Well, no. I was more like a pushover than anything when I was young, but that wasn't really the same thing as being nice. I don't think I've ever known how to be nice. After I learned to stop being a god damn wimp I became Maxwell. That's pretty much it." Maxwell let his hands fall down and let out a hollow chuckle "You would've liked me better back then."

Wilson frowned and turned to lay over his side, facing Maxwell.

"I like you now."

"Well, that's a shame then. Your loss."

Wilson hesitated, only for a second, before he took Maxwell's hand on his own, and his heart skipped a beat when Maxwell curled their fingers together. The man avoided looking at him, but Wilson didn't mind. He rested his head on the crook of Maxwell's neck and let out a quiet hum.

"You win some, you loose some. I like my loss just fine."

Maxwell's huffed laugh warmed Wilson's chest and he felt brave enough to plant a small kiss on Maxwell's neck. He immediately regretted his decision when Maxwell flinched under his touch.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"No, it's okay. I just wasn't expecting it." Maxwell's voice was tired, but assuring enough for Wilson to let the small amounts of fear flow away again. Wilson placed his head back down. It's fine. This was fine. He would learn to read Maxwell better, he'd learn to know if he was intruding. Maxwell was more careful with him than he was with Maxwell, but he wouldn't want to be the only one who got something good out of this.

"...I really can't imagine you being a wimp..." he muttered, and Maxwell just huffed quietly.

"I also used to wear glasses and have a different name. Things change."

"How did you end up like this... What on earth happened to you...? " Wilson continued, mostly thinking out loud rather than actually directing the question to Maxwell. The older man was quiet for a while, until he hesitantly spoke up.

"If you will forgive me, I would rather not look back at that time... It's not a nice story, not something I would really care to remember. Although I would understand if you want to hear it, I have no right to hide things from you."

Wilson squeezed his hand lightly and shook his head.

"I would prefer to just let you forget."

"Thank you."

Wilson wanted to shut his eyes and curl up next to Maxwell, to lay there for a while longer, so much longer, but he knew it'd be better to get moving. They would have time to lay on the ground some other day, when things were a little bit less hectic and less prone to go wrong. With a displeased whine he lifted himself off the ground and whistled for Chester. The orange chest jumped to his feet in seconds, always so happy to be useful.

"We should go. If you still want to, I mean." Wilson lowered his eyes on Maxwell, who frowned as he let a sigh through his nose, but got up and dusted his suit.

"I suppose I might as well. It's not like I have anywhere else to go anyway." the taller man muttered, but didn't bother to pretend he was disappointed with his decision. Wilson smirked and headed back to their planned path, the taller man following right behind him. The scientist slowed down just a little bit, hesitated for a moment, and then turned to look at Maxwell.

"Hey, Max. Just for the record... I would stop you from jumping."

Maxwell shook his head and rubbed his hand over his face, a small smirk on his lips.

"...Of course you would. You just don't now when to quit, do you?"


	22. The goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie returns for a quick visit with one last card up her sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Pretty much the same type of emotional abuse and manipulation like in chapter 18.

It wasn't a surprise that the darkness caught up to them before they were able to reach the camp. Wilson knew they were close now, already recognising the landscapes around them before the darkness swallowed everything the light of their torches wasn't able to save. He rose his torch up and gazed in the darkness where he could see the faintest, smallest little dot that flickered brightly in the far distance.

"Home sweet home, I guess" he chuckled and felt the funny sensation in his gut.

Home. That sounded strange. Not wrong, but strange. Home was not a subject Wilson really thought about all that much or often. To him, a home used to be a place where he slept and ate. It was a building where he lived, the walls that sheltered him from the outside world. Now he thought it might have a little different meaning for him. He guessed that he had a better home here than he ever had on earth, as depressing as it sounded. But he wasn't going to complain.

Maxwell followed him in silence, and Wilson could sense his nervousness getting stronger now that they had the base on their sight, slowly getting bigger in the distance. He slowed down and looked up at him.

"How you're holding up?"

A shrug.

Wilson nodded, not pestering him too much about it. Maxwell would calm down when he'd realize that all was fine. Still, the shorter man stayed next to him, just in case he needed some encouragement. He promised Maxwell that the man wouldn't have to face this alone, and he wasn't going to break that promise.

When the base was close enough for them to start separating the different shapes and shadows inside, Maxwell abruptly stopped so suddenly that it took Wilson a few steps to notice he wasn't following anymore. The younger man turned to face him, tilting his head in concern. Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows and motioned his hand towards the camp.

"You... you go ahead, I'll follow you soon."

Wilson frowned and shook his head at him.

"Is something wrong?" he must've sounded more scared than he actually was, because it made the older man scrunch his face into a guilty frown, and then let out defeated sigh, looking away from him.

"Charlie wants to talk to me." he said, hanging his head.

Wilson's eyes widened in surprise, the cold shiver rising the hair on his arms up, his senses suddenly sharp and alert. How did Maxwell know she was here? Was she even really here? Wilson hadn't heard or seen anything in the dark, not a single sign that would hint about her presence. Then again, she was the Queen, she had the complete control of this little world. His surprise didn't last long until it turned into defiant pout. It's not like he didn't expect her to show up eventually. Fine then, if she wanted to mess with Maxwell some more, let her try, Wilson wouldn't let her destroy the small progress he had managed to make.

"Don't mind me, I'm sure it won't take long" he muttered, his fingers absently searching for a weapon from his backpack.

The quiet wait lasted a while longer, until there was that terrifyingly sweet, amused hum that seemed to come from everywhere around them.

"Oh Maxy, you poor, poor fool. I really thought you would've come to your senses by now. I'm gonna be honest, I didn't expect you to _actually_ go back there to humiliate yourself further. You really have no idea what you are doing anymore, do you? As if they really cared for having you around again."

It took a while for the slender figure to walk into their view when the Queen creeped into the light, softly wrapping her arms around Maxwell from behind, sweeping her fingers over his chest.

"And what do you think will happen now, hmm? Who in there would actually be happy to see you, happy to watch you ruin everything again? Oh, you sad, ludicrous, pitiful man... You really just can't leave poor Wilson alone, can you? You can't keep your filthy hands away from him and let him be free. How selfish, just taking what you want without caring about the consequences, just like you always do. I can't wait to see what horrible ways you will find to hurt him this time." Charlie bemoaned with frown, obviously faked concern in her voice when she swirled in front of the tall man, tapping his nose with a black fingernail as she walked by. Maxwell thrust his eyes shut on the contact, looking like he tried really hard not to reach his hand out to Charlie, and bit his lip.

"I... I'm sorry Charlie... Really, I am... I, I wanted none of this for you. I'm so sorry-"

"You're not sorry. You don't even know _how_ to be sorry. You can keep squirming and suffering all you want, the only one you have pity for is yourself." Charlie rolled her eyes and turned away. Maxwell cracked open his mouth, was silent for a second, then let a small smile to rose on his lips.

"... I know. I am really selfish. But I... I just want you to be happy again, I miss you being happy."

"Oh, Maxy. There you go again. Why must everything be about what you want? You say you are sorry, yet you don't even care what _I_ would want. You have never cared about it, have you? It's always just about _you_."

Maxwell looked up, took in the small inhale, but couldn't say anything. Charlie turned to flutter her eyes at him over her shoulder.

"Yes, I know. It has always been your show, your game, your stage. It must be so hard to be on the other side of the line, right?" She walked right back at Maxwell, grasping his chin on her hand "Oh, why does not world revolve around you? Why doesn't everyone do what you want, why can't things always go your way? Selfish. It's always just about your selfish needs. You're so greedy you wouldn't even realize how much you take without giving anything back. Or am I wrong?" she tilted her head, giving Maxwell an unamused rise of her eyebrows. Maxwell swallowed.

"No, you... You're right. I just thought that...I, I wanted-"

"See? _You_ wanted. You."

"N-no, I didn't mean- I... I would do anything if it would make you feel better, if I could make this up to you somehow I would, I swear-"

"Maxwell" Wilson interrupted, hesitating only for a second when Charlie glanced at him "...It's okay, Maxwell. You're gonna be okay." he tried to smile encouragingly, even though he knew his words were little better than just a bunch of meaningless letters stuck together. He didn't know what to say, he had no idea how to de-escalate this, but he didn't want to see Maxwell like this... He had to say at least _something._

Maxwell seemed to know it too, making little to no attempt to smile at him through his distress, until his gaze fell back to Charlie, who turned away from Wilson as well. The Queen seemed to be in thoughts, quiet for a change, until she let go of Maxwell and smiled sweetly again.

"Very well, Maxy. I will forgive you, and we can leave this whole ordeal behind us. We can go back to the way we used to be. Do you remember? How much fun we had after the show, drinking and laughing together on the backstage... remember how happy we were?"

Maxwell smiled carefully, and Charlie turned around, pushing her back on his chest, wrapping his arms around herself into a hug, and Wilson had never seem someone's face turn simultaneously so sad and happy the same time.

"Are you okay, Maxwell?" the short man dared to ask, too nervous to look at Charlie, feeling a little bit like a third wheel. He kept his eyes strictly at Maxwell, who opened his mouth to answer, but was silenced by the Queen's lovely little giggle.

"Yes, are you okay, Maxy? You would like to be, wouldn't you? I would like that too. We can both go back to being okay... You just have to do one thing for me to prove yourself, to make this all go away, and then we can both get what we want." Charlie looked up smiling, and Maxwell looked at her, a unsure smile still on his lips.

Then Charlie lowered her head to Wilson, looking him straight in the eyes.

"You just have to kill Wilson."

The silence that fell over them felt like an giant icecube, the air getting too thick and cold to move or breathe, everything frozen solid for a second. Maxwell's face fell, Charlie just smiled while playing with his fingers, and Wilson was struck voiceless.

Maxwell moved his eyes to stare at Wilson, but there was nothing in his eyes, nothing that Wilson could grasp, nothing that he could find. That was the true kind of lost if he had ever seen it.

"You know he will come back eventually." Charlie said, as if it would make her proposition any less bizarre and horrible "It's such a small price to pay for forgiveness, really... It's not like you haven't killed him before" she smiled, her words stinging Wilson, and he knew they stung Maxwell even worse. Still, the man didn't seem to be able to give any reaction. 

"...You weren't _lying_ to me when you said that you would do _anything_ , were you? Now is the time to prove you mean it." Charlie asked, not bothering to look either of the men when she pouted, pushing her back against Maxwell. The man behind her was just staring at Wilson with empty expression, mouth slightly agape. Wilson was answering his unfocused eyes with his own sharp stare, concerned and scared, both for Maxwell and himself. Then he turned to look at Charlie again, and his expression turned to frown of disgust.

"What the hell do you want from Maxwell? That wouldn't change anything, you'll gain nothing from making him do something like that!" the man snarled, amazed by the sheer nerve the woman had. She had absolutely no reason to do this, none other than hurting Maxwell. That's it, that was the only reason she would pull off something like this.

Charlie disregarded him with he light hum of laughter, snapping her fingers and smiling.

"I will even make this easy for you, Maxy. The quicker it's over, the quicker we can be happy again. You _do_ want to make me happy, don't you?"

"You can't seriously make him do something like that, he doesn't want to-" the rest of the words got stuck in Wilson's throat when he felt something cold and almost too thin to be real slither up his legs, and he lowered his horrified eyes to see at least six separate shadows creeping to hold his hands and legs. Panic. Now was the time to panic. And the panic made it's comeback as fast and loud as was possible, and Wilson screamed, feeling his feet trembling as he tried to escape, struggling against the shadows, but he should've already known that his efforts were futile. He rose his head up to give the other two a frightened look.

"Maxwe-"

One shadow lunged up and wrapped around his neck, making a warning tug that cut the air and voice away from Wilson, making his gasp and swallow the rest of the words.

"Sush, love." Charlie crooned and held her hand up, the dagger as black as it was deadly appearing between her fingers. With gentle and firm movement the woman placed it on Maxwell's hand, patted him, and smiled softly "here you go. Time to make good of your word."

Maxwell removed his gaze from Wilson to watch the blade on his hand without a word. Wilson felt his insides getting colder. As the magician kept staring at the weapon handed to him, the scientist feared, really truly feared, that Maxwell was considering using it.

"... Why?" the man could force out, the voice as void from the emotion as his eyes were. Charlie tapped her chin with her fingertip "Why not? You did say 'anything'. And I trust that you can keep your word... Unless you don't actually want to make all those horrible things up to me?"

Wilson gritted his teeth, the tears burning in his eyes as he was uselessly trying to pull himself away from the shadows. He couldn't speak, the tendril over his neck was tightening every time he tried. He needed to reach out to Maxwell, needed to tell him that he couldn't make the right choice, there was no right choice, there hadn't been from the start. No matter what he did, he was going to loose, he couldn't please Charlie, Charlie would find the way to turn it against him either way.

Maxwell glanced at him, and Wilson tried to say so many things to the other man with just the pitiful frown over his face and the pleading glint in his eyes. Maxwell looked like as if he had already stabbed Wilson, his face very apologetic, sorry, needlessly guilty. The man turned his face down again, not saying a word.

Wilson swallowed. He could do nothing, he was useless. Maxwell needed him and he wasn't able to help at all, only struggle in the tight grip of the shadows and concentrate on breathing, hoping that Maxwell was still at least somewhat sane enough to realize that this was obviously just meant to torture him, that he couldn't get what he wanted, no matter what he chose to do.

Maxwell just tightened his grip on the handle of the dagger and bit his teeth together, rising his eyes on Wilson and taking a one step towards him.

Wilson's eyes widened in horror and he held his breath, and it felt like even the silence was silent for a moment.

Then Maxwell released a pain filled sigh and let go of the weapon, pulling his arms close to his body.

"... I can't." he whispered and shrunk down between his shoulders. Wilson let out a pathetic, happy wheezing sound, while Charlie didn't even bother to look surprised. Wilson, under his own feeling of relief, realized that he had possibly not been in any real danger at all - Charlie knew Maxwell wasn't going to do it, never expected him to. Wilson bit the inside of his mouth. That was low even for her.

Charlie just sighed, looking more bored than anything.

"You have really created new form of art of letting people down, Maxy. I applaud you, you really are worth of your word. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Really, you can't give up your favorite toy just for a little while to make things up to me? He would come back. I will not."

Maxwell hung his head, and Charlie klicked her tongue.

"Good luck. Don't forget that you are the enemy here, it will be easier the next time when they remind you of it when you forget to act like a decent person." the Queen hummed, and with the wave of her hand the shadows finally disappeared to thin air, leaving nothing behind but icky feeling and unpleasant pressure on Wilson's skin. The scientist immediately proceeded to shook away, rubbing his neck while his other hand sunk inside his bag.

"Seeing as you have clearly made your choice to join this little pack again, I suppose that I should take my leave then." Charlie mused and turned to face Wilson, smiling at him "You won't need me anymore Maxy, now that you got your little playthings back."

In that moment the short man found the handle of his axe on his back, grabbed it tightly, slowly pulling it out, and scowled at Charlie confrontationally.

"With all due respect, miss Charlie, you don't need to worry about Max anymore. I will be taking care of him from now on." he snarled, not trying to hide the scorn or the bite in his voice. He had absolutely no change of winning against the powerful entity that Charlie had become, hell, even before her reign on the throne she had been untouchable, but Wilson wasn't one to back down from the challenge. And there was absolutely no way and no chance he wouldn't try to pry Maxwell away from the grasp she was holding him in.

Charlie just smiled softly as a summer breeze to Wilson and didn't seem to mind his threat in the slightest.

"...'Max'? I see that you have gotten close, hmm?" she questioned, raising her brow and making a sudden red color flush on Wilson's face. Charlie laughed at it with the same fashion as the big sister might laugh when finding out that her sibling has a crush on her friend. It was somehow simultaneously kind and belittling. Charlie though it was _cute_ , and that somehow felt even more terrifying to Wilson.

"I won't lie to you, I really wished that you, too, would have realized the error of your ways and just left Maxwell when you had the chance. He won't change. He will always hurt other people, always make bad choices that end up in tragedy. I wanted to save you from him, save at least someone else from his shadows." her smile faded slightly, the actual worry and sadness blinking underneath the sheath of her facade. It wasn't enough to turn Wilson's head, no, but he could see that there was genuine fear, a hint of spite over her own fate and real longing to be something else than what she had become. A memory peeked up briefly somewhere in Wilson's mind, memory of the curious and helpful woman slithering from the darkness, ready to free him from the throne without any questions, actually just wishing to help.

There was something badly wrong with Charlie. Something that might be too lost to be saved, something broken and corrupted beyond repair. And Wilson wanted to help her, but he didn't know how, and he didn't know if he could. He glanced at Maxwell. Maybe the magician had tried to help her too, maybe that's why he had sat on the throne. Maybe the guilt and grief weren't the only reasons why he let Charlie treat him the way she did.

The older man had opened his eyes again, now just staring at the ground, look of despair covering his face like a veil. Wilson felt a cold sting in his chest. He felt sorry for both of them, two lost souls, sharing a fate that had taken everything from them and left them with nothing but anguish. 

Wilson furrowed his eyebrows, biting his teeth together. Maybe Charlie needed his help, but so did Maxwell, and the difference was that Charlie might've been beyond help, but Maxwell was not. Maxwell wasn't too far gone yet, and he wouldn't let him slip any further. If Charlie could be saved, the time for that could come later.

Wilson didn't answer her in the end, he didn't want to give her something to twist and throw at Maxwell. Eventually the grim smirk rose to adore Charlie's lips as she turned back to Maxwell, leaving Wilson out of the conversation once again.

"Not even going to say a little goodbye to your old pal, Maxy? Oh, is there any place as dark and cold as your heart?" She cupped his cheek, and Maxwell shook under her touch "Fine, I'll take the hint." she let her hand rest on his face a while longer, before letting her finger run across his cheek when she walked away from him, turning to glance back one last time, giving Wilson a polite little nod "Goodbye, Wilson dear."

Then her eyes moved back at Maxwell who didn't either dare or want to turn around to face her "Play nice with your toy, Maxy. And try not to break it please, I'm rather fond of this one." with one last taunt of laughter leaving her lips, she walked away.

The darkness seemed to get a little less dark when Charlie disappeared into the night, if that was even possible. The oppressing atmosphere got a little lighter, and Wilson waited until every trace of her presence had faded while sending murderous stares after her. Then he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, put his axe away and rose his eyes at Maxwell.

The former King seemed very small, very gutted, his mouth hanging slightly open as if he wanted to say something but the words were stuck. He stared into nothing in particular, huddling his arms close to himself, eyes glossed in the dim light of the torches. Wilson's mouth set in a tight line of discomfort when he reached to take Maxwell's hand. Only then did the man snap out of his empty stare, and his words came out fast and panicky.

"I-I don't really think that you are- I- Sorry Wilson-I don't, I swear it-its not-"

"Heyy, shhh... shh shh, it's fine, Max, it's fine. I know you don't think that, I know... it's fine." Wilson raised his hands up in soothing manner and gave Maxwell a soft, wary smile. Of course he knew that Maxwell didn't think him as just something to amuse himself with, that much had been made clear recently. The magician took in a few shallow breaths before he closed his eyes and let Wilson pull him into a hug. Wilson rubbed his hand over his upper back and leaned his head on Maxwell's.

"It's gonna be okay, don't worry about it."

The long hands curled over Wilson, and suddenly he realized just how much bigger Maxwell was than him. It was so easy to forget when Charlie made him look so _small._

"I wouldn't have done it, I- I'm sorry I wasn't going to-"

"Heyy, It's fine, I know. I'm not afraid of you, I'm not going anywhere." Wilson hummed softly and felt Maxwell's weight, the little of that the other man had, almost collapse over him. The younger man wanted to think it was out of relief. How did Charlie even get in his head so easily? She didn't need to do much more than say a few words and Maxwell practically fell apart before her.

"I don't think she... I don't she will forgive me. N-not that she needs to! Nobody needs to forgive me... I just, I thought..."

"I know, I'm here. It's gonna be fine, Maxwell, I promise. I've forgiven you, it's okay..." Wilson consoled him, even though he knew, somewhere inside, that it wasn't the whole truth. There were things he knew he couldn't forgive, things too hurt and sensitive to the touch. But they were the kind of truths that could stay hidden, things that didn't need to be known, didn't need to be spoken out loud. Some truths were better to be quelled under the comforting sheet of white lies. Wilson knew these things wouldn't destroy him, but if he let them slip out, they would destroy Maxwell. Maxwell didn't expect to be forgiven, didn't _want_ to be forgiven, but if Wilson gave him what he wanted, he couldn't handle it. He knew that it wouldn't matter how few or small the things were, Maxwell would hold on to them until there would be nothing else left for him. Maxwell would let himself spiral down to the pit where he'd refuse to believe anything else than that Wilson hadn't forgiven him, would never forgive anything, and that was not worth it. Getting a few things out of his chest was not worth of loosing Maxwell. Again.

Wilson just rocked him faintly, pressing close to let the other know that he was still there.

"I wanted, I just... If I could make it up to her... If, if I could apologize right, _better_ , if I could somehow, some way..." Maxwell's words faded into whispers that Wilson couldn't quite make out, and he just pushed his head closer and grasped Maxwell tighter. At this point the short man could tell that Maxwell was talking more to himself, not really even waiting Wilson to answer him, but it seemed to calm him down a little bit either way to hear his voice.

"I'm here. It's gonna be fine, you will be fine. I'm with you." Wilson hushed him, and he felt a huff of air on his neck when Maxwell let out a shaky, heavy breath. Wilson let him have a little more time to pull himself together, circling his hand over his back soothingly even though his knees were getting sore from trying to reach up to his level to hold him.

"I... could try again, I could, maybe if I could make her understand that-"

"Maxwell, no." Wilson stressed the later word a little bit too heavily, and tried to make up for it by trying to sound kinder for the rest of them "You need to give up, there is nothing you can do for her right now..." he felt Maxwell's whole body getting limp, and quickly added: "I promise we can try to help her later. But not now. You need to let go of this."

Maxwell just took in a shuddering breath and grabbed Wilson's vest between his fingers tighter. The younger man guessed that that was equivalent for complying, he hoped it was. For the sake of both of them, all of them.

Wilson wondered if this was how Maxwell felt when he had to watch Wilson fall apart, being all scared and hurt and unsure, distrustful. It was scary. It was scary to know what was wrong but not being able to do a thing to make it better, only uselessly watching from the side and trying to help without any real way to do so.

Wilson sighed and petted Maxwell's hair absentmindedly. He could try to help, even if he didn't really know how. He was good at trying. Trying was at least doing _something_ , and that had to count a little bit, right?

After a while of standing there and slowly feeling his knees getting sore, he carefully pulled away, raising his brows at the other man who tried to pull himself together and avoided looking at him.

"You're ready to go?" the shorter man asked.

"...No."

"...Can we go?"

"...Yes."

Wilson let the sigh slip through his lips while his hand fell down to hold Maxwell by his own, rubbing his thumb on his hardel. He gave the other man one last encouraging smile, before he slowly guided them back to the camp. Then they would finally, _finally_ be back home together.


	23. A home with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they're finally back home again, both Maxwell and Wilson are really tired and Wilson feels all too much things to handle them, while Maxwell just tries to be there for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are reaching the end, friends! The next chapter will be the epilogue (and the one after that some art I made during writing this).
> 
> WARNINGS: Another NSFW scene in this chapter! Also very mild hints of dubcon.

Of course not many of the other people in the group were up at this hour of the night, but it was probably for the best, Wilson thought. Both men were tired out of their minds and as much as Wilson's head screamed the joy of getting back, his body screamed for an entirely different reason and he just wanted to curl up to his tent and rest.

Wickerbottom was sitting on the logs they used as seats, tending to the fire and writing a book. She rose her head when Wilson approached, and the warm smile immediately glowed over her face. She adjusted her glasses, and Wilson could almost hear the 'well well well' of her voice in his head.

"Well, it's awfully late time to return, but I'm very glad to see you again, dear." she embraced Wilson in a hug, which the man returned, tiredly. Maxwell stood behind him, awkwardly looking everywhere else than where the librarian stood, very clearly feeling out of place. Wickerbottom hummed and let Wilson go to take Maxwell's hand in her own, and squeezed it gently "You too, Maxwell. Glad to see you decided to join us again."

"Uh, yes... " Maxwell quickly pulled himself together and cleared his throat "It's nice to see you're well and healthy, too."

The old woman nodded at them in turn and returned to writing her book "The other's are asleep, but I'll let them know about your return when they wake up. No need to disturb their sleep if you're gonna be here in the morning anyway."

"Thank you" Wilson mumbled and headed back to his tent, and stopped right at the entrance when he peeked in. Oh, right... Of course Willow was sleeping there, it was her tent too.

"I don't suppose there are any unoccupied tents at the moment?" he called at the librarian, who shook her head. Great. Well, Wilson was too tired to bother the others, so he turned to Maxwell to ask him to wait a moment, but to his surprise the man had already sat down near the fire.

Wilson blinked.

"Aren't you coming to sleep?"

Maxwell looked uncomfortable, wrapping his arms over his chest "If there's no room, I can just stay at the firepit tonight. I'll make myself a tent tomorrow, I don't really need the sleep anyway. Good night, I'll see you in the morning" the man muttered, but his dark eyelids and over all beaten up demeanor told the very different story of his need for rest. Wilson sighed and crawled into the tent. Yeah, right, like he would just abandon Maxwell there and go to sleep by himself? How stupid Maxwell think he was, really.

The scientist knelt next to Willow, making sure he had enough room to dodge if she happened to be in the mood to sleep-attack him, and took her by the shoulder and shook her gently until the woman stirred and opened her eyes.

"...Wilson?"

"Yeah, I'm back. Hi. Listen, can we-"

Wilson couldn't finish his question, because without a warning he was snatched into a tight, lung-crushing hug as Willow squealed happily through her sleepiness. Wilson gave a short laugh and managed to pull himself away from her grip.

"I missed you, nice to see you again." he smiled at her. Willow smiled back, but the smile faded quickly, replaced with worry "...Did you find Maxwell? Is he...?"

"Oh, yeah, I did, he's outside. Listen, can we sleep here tonight? It's been _a long_ journey and I could use a good sleep for a change... Please?" Wilson gave her the best impression of puppy-eyes he could manage, and the woman rolled her eyes.

"Wow, I almost forgot how whiny you can be" she grinned at him jokingly, but stretched her arms out and yawned "Finnneee... I will keep watch tonight, you two have fun or whatever" she winked, and Wilson almost entertained the idea of kicking her butt when she left, but was way too tired to be properly angry or embarrassed.

It took less than a minute for Maxwell to appear on the entrance, and Wilson didn't give him a chance to have second thoughts before he pulled him inside.

"...You could've just gone to sleep, you know. Didn't need to wake up the firestarter. I would've been fine." Maxwell mumbled and sat next to him, when Wilson took of his vest and shirt and kicked his shoes away.

"Yeah, sure... She didn't snap at you, did she?" he rose his brow, a little worried, but Maxwell just shook his head.

"She didn't, just told me to go to sleep. I have time to fight with her later." (and fight later they did.)

Wilson snorted tiredly and crawled under the blanket. Maxwell only took off his shoes, jacket and tie and layed down on his back next to him. Wilson dragged himself closer, threw the fur blanket over the taller man, and placed his head on his shoulder.

The silence didn't even have time to properly settle in, when Wilson already broke it.

"...Maxwell?"

"Weren't you supposed to go to sleep?"

Wilson just huffed at the snarky answer.

"I was just wondering... would you mind if I kissed you?" he looked up, and Maxwell looked down, batting his eyes slowly, and then shook his head. Wilson lifted himself to lean on his elbows and moved above Maxwell, hesitantly bringing their lips together. Maxwell pulled his hand behind Wilson's head and closed his eyes.

Wilson was tired, he was so entirely and throughoutly tired, so tired that he could've died and probably still would've woken up tired, but his fingers still started to wander on Maxwell's chest. He missed this, he missed Maxwell, he missed being close to him and knowing that he was really here, really near to him and warm and soft...

Wilson broke off the kiss and looked down at Maxwell, but the man kept his eyes away from him, as usual, a scarlet color over his cheeks. The younger man lowered his head to kiss his ear.

"Just say if you want to stop" he mumbled with exhausted but eager voice, and snuggled his nose on the other man's cheek like an attention-hungry puppy. Maxwell didn't say anything, and Wilson placed a few more kisses on his face, then pulled away smiling, leaning on his palm and staring at the other man.

It was dark inside the tent, even when the fire glowed dimly through the walls of fabric, but Wilson could still see all the angles and edges on Maxwell's sharply sculpted face. Maxwell had aged well if you counted all the changed he had gone through on the throne into account, and Wilson was entirely and throughoutly enchanted by everything in Maxwell despite his flaws.

Maxwell tried to keep his eyes away, until Wilson's unmoving stare eventually got to him, and the man had to turn his face back to the scientist, a little irritated.

"What?" he snarled when Wilson just kept staring at him, smiling. The short man shrugged.

"I'm just watching your face. I missed it."

Maxwell looked flustered and turned his head away, which only instigated the scientist more. He pushed himself closer to the man, bringing both of his hands to hold his head and turned it to face him again, kissing him deeply, humming as he did. He pushed his hips on Maxwell's leg and felt the man budge under him. He wanted Maxwell. He wanted everything in him, his soul and body and his life and just _him_ , he wanted to have all of that for himself forever. He could show how much he cared, how much he wanted Maxwell close to him. How much more Maxwell was to him than he could ever bring to words. 

"You want me to stop?" Wilson crooned, stroking his thumb on Maxwell's cheek, cracking his eyes open slightly. Maxwell shook his head and pulled Wilson back into the kiss. Wilson let the other man's tongue slip inside his mouth and dance with his own, and he sighed through his nose, from the sensation that tingled inside him. He leaned on his side and Maxwell turned with him, pushing him on his back on the fur bedding.

Wilson slipped his hand under the other man's shirt, his other hand lazily unbuttoning his shirt. He was so tired, yet he couldn't stop, he couldn't let go, he just wanted this so much, he wanted Maxwell so much, he wanted to make him feel good and loved and important...

It saddened him to know how lowly Maxwell thought of himself and how lowly he expected everyone else to think of him him as well. Wilson understood, in some level, how that felt. He could never get the guilt or regret that Maxwell felt, but he knew how it felt to be the outcast, to be alone because you were scared to lose what you had, scared that nobody would ever love you - scared to be loved because you had never been loved before.

Maxwell's one hand was laying on the side of his head, his fingers tangling into Wilson's messy black hair. His other hand was softly pressing on his side, feeling a bare skin with careful touches, steadily making it's way to his hips which Wilson was eagerly bumping up to every touch he got, wordlessly asking for more, all the while concentrating to undressing their clothes.

When he had managed to finally get them both more or less half-naked, the younger man moved his hand to Maxwell's crotch and pressed, and the tingle run through his spine when the magician sucked in a shuddering breath. Wilson kissed the corner of his lips, arching his back when the long fingers slipped under the band of his trousers, teasing him with touches around his already half-hard member. 

He closed his eyes and let himself sink into this perfect feeling. This was the way he liked to be touched, this was the right place and right time. He didn't feel frightened under the taller man, under his arms that could easily hurt him, could so effortlessly force so many horrible things on him when he was pressed against the ground, too tired and weak to fight back. He didn't feel threatened at all, he knew Maxwell wouldn't hurt him - he wouldn't hurt Maxwell either. Maybe the trust was a two-way road, too. You couldn't expect someone to trust you if you were not willing to trust them as well. And he did trust Maxwell.

Wilson knew he had always been on top, well, physically, mostly because he had been so scared of being trapped, so scared of being held down with smaller possibility to escape, unable to avoid the terrible feeling of helplessness, the fear still controlling him. But he felt a different way now, laying under Maxwell, his tall body pressing against him and pinning him on the ground. He felt safe. He felt like he was being protected, being taken care of. Maxwell would stop if he asked, Maxwell would _do_ what he asked, Maxwell would never, ever hurt him on purpose.

The sharp gasp slipped through his lips when the other man groped him, and he clasped his arms around the magician's back, digging his fingers deep, probably leaving red lines where his nails dragged through his skin.

"Ah- Max... yes" his voice was barely even a whisper, and he felt the blood rush to both his face and his cock, and he lowered his other hand to unbutton Maxwell's pants. The air in the tent was getting stuffy, hot and heavy, and the sweat drops formed on Wilson's skin, collecting over his brow. His breathing had gotten thin and fast, unlike Maxwell's, who was taking much deeper, slower breaths. The older man had removed his finger's from Wilson's bulging crotch and started to work on removing his pants too, while lowering his head to resume the kissing, which Wilson didn't refuse in the slightest.

He could feel Maxwell stiffen up when his length was pulled out of his trousers, and the scientist didn't waste any time and started fondling him. Maxwell groaned and his other hand, still on Wilson's head, grasped his hair firmly and gained a moan of pleasure from the younger man as well.

Wilson bent his knees and squeezed the other man between them, while Maxwell kissed his chin and neck, and Wilson took his hand on his own, kissing it softly in return until he let the man slip the fingers inside his mouth.

His head started to feel light as he sucked and licked Maxwell's long, claw-like fingers, coating them with his spit, trying to get the taste of the blackened skin on his hands. The familiar feeling of pleasure and comfort took over his senses, pulling him into a blissful high of the other man's presence. It didn't take long for Maxwell's thick lips replace his fingers that left Wilson's mouth with a wet smack, and the younger man shoved himself against his partner. Maxwell moved his fingers lower to help make a way to his cock, and Wilson pulled his hand away from his crotch, and instead brought both of them on the man's cheeks, keeping him close, so close and so warm and oh god, oh lord Wilson had missed Maxwell so much.

He whined when the fingers entered him and pulled away, throwing his head back and tensing up. He felt Maxwell stopping, glancing at him with alarmed and worried look on his face.

"S-sorry, I-"

Wilson didn't let Maxwell apologize to him, instead grasping his head and pulling it on his chest "Just keep... keep going..." he managed to breathe out, stroking his hair with shaky hands. He let out another gasp when Maxwell thrust the long digits inside, bending them and hitting his prostate _just right_ and sending the shockwaves running through his body. Wilson was shaking, hot and wet from the sweat, leaking pre-cum over himself, and he closed his eyes, pressing Maxwell's head on his chest. The man answered his affection by pressing lips on his skin.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, clouded and fuzzy and too high to really process anything even a slightest bit complex, Wilson thought how he had wanted this so much, too much to pretend that it wasn't for selfish reasons, selfish need to be close to Maxwell. And he wanted to think that Maxwell needed him too, Maxwell would do whatever he asked and it was because he wanted this and he loved Wilson and not because he felt guilty and tried to make up for something bad he had done a long time ago-

"S-stop." Wilson heard himself stutter out when his brain grasped a hold of that last passing thought before it could slip away in the mess that was his lustful, needy mind right now. Maxwell did stop and tried to rise his head up, but Wilson was holding it tight against his chest, not even realizing that he did, just wanting to keep him close, wanting to stay in his warmth.

"Do you really want this?"

It was a little bit of a mood killer, but it was so much more better than the alternative where he would just take what he needed, and Maxwell would give it to him without any complaints because he was a god damn idiot who didn't put any amount of value on himself.

"Why? Don't you want this? We can stop if-" Maxwell let out a suffocated whine when Wilson held his head even tighter, almost crushing it.

"Maxwell, if you don't know if I want this or not, you have clearly been unconscious for the last hundred times we have done this. I want this. Curse me, I do, but not if you don't want this too. Just tell me, please... If you wouldn't be okay with something, for any reason at all, not right now, not with me, not this way..."

Maxwell made him fall silent by finally managing to yank himself free from his death-grip, and the younger man held his arms in the air to let him go, though hesitantly. Maxwell pulled his finger out of Wilson and pressed his head against his mess of a hair.

"That's nothing so important that you need to worry about it." he muttered, smiling, petting Wilson's hair comfortingly. Wilson frowned in response.

"You're important. I worry about you."

Maxwell stopped for a second and just stared at him, as if he suspected he had heard the young man wrong, like he had never been called that before. Wilson swallowed, and slowly placed his hands on Maxwell's shoulders. The man seemed to pull back, only a little bit, but his eyes never left Wilson's own.

"I don't want you to do this to make me feel better. I don't want you to prove to me that you care, that you are trying to be better. I already know, I know you regret things and you..." he paused, his hands slipping to hold Maxwell's cheeks gently "You deserve to feel loved, too."

Maxwell kept staring at him, looking like Wilson had just pulled the most amazing magic trick ever created, judging by the bewildered expression on his face. Wilson closed his eyes and planted a light little kiss on his lips.

"I want to make you feel good. I want to make you happy. You don't have to do something you don't really want just because I do."

It seemed to take a while for Maxwell to break away from his trance-like stare, and at first there was only a small, unsure smile pulling the side of his mouth, until he finally snorted out a quiet laughter and run his thumb over the already healed cut on Wilson's cheek.

"Trust me pal, there is nothing about you that I don't want."

Wilson pulled him into a kiss again, and it was deep and gentle, a very different kiss than before. And it felt better than any of the previous kisses they had shared, it was like the whole world broke into pieces, shattered and fell away, leaving nothing behind but just the two of them. Wilson felt giddy, he was beaming and soaring and there was a pressure inside his chest, a giant bubble of unknown feeling that wanted to burst out of him. Maxwell's arms were back on his body, pulling up and down on his sides and just feeling him, wanting to be close to him, wanting his attention. There was nothing about him that Maxwell didn't want. He was wanted, somebody wanted him.

Maxwell wanted him.

Him.

_Nobody had ever wanted him before._

The unnamed feeling exploded inside his heart and streamed all over him, filling up his weary body with new kind of burning sensation. As the soft, needing, wanting kiss landed on his neck, Wilson realized that he was happy.

He arched his back and his arms dropped down on the ground, shivering when the sharp fingertips left tickling lines on his abdomen. Maxwell pushed his head on the crook of his neck and breathed in the sweat and the man's natural odor.

"You are too good to me" he muttered, and Wilson had a feeling that the words were not meant to be heard by him, perhaps Maxwell was just thinking out loud "I could do so many terrible things to you, I could, I could hurt you..." there was little pain in there, a little fear in between the lines that would probably take a long time to fade away. It didn't matter if Wilson was afraid that Maxwell would hurt him, because apparently Maxwell was much more afraid of it himself.

The man flinched when Wilson turned his head to kiss his temple, sinking his fingers on his hair and leaning closer.

"Yeah, you could. But you won't." he gave the man another kiss, and Maxwell tightened his grip on him, peppering kisses all over his neck and his face, pushing his head so close it felt like he was trying to sink inside Wilson right through his skin.

The younger man kept his head close to kiss and caress him, and took Maxwell's hand on his own to guide it back down. Maxwell got the hint and slowly pushed his fingers back inside him, earning a noise from Wilson that was something between a moan and a sigh, and the scientist pulled his head closed to his own, turning to give him kisses mixed with hot, shuddering breaths.

Maxwell was careful and slow, but he did it so well, touching just the right places just the right way. Wilson could've never imagined how good it would feel like this, more tender and loving instead of just lustful and so greedy and needing. He was so bewitched of Maxwell's touch that the other man could've done anything to him and Wilson would allow it just to keep him to himself for a little while longer. And he had never wanted anything more than Maxwell. Maxwell could do nothing to him that he didn't want right now. Wilson would let the other man break him into pieces and would still thank him later.

The young man pulled Maxwell closer, kissing his ear.

"Do what ever you please to me" he whispered "I want to be yours."

Maxwell pulled his fingers out faster than Wilson expected and the man yelped in both surprise and discomfort of the sudden hollow feeling inside. He didn't have to feel empty for long when Maxwell placed his tip on Wilson's entrance, teasing him with thrust not nearly deep enough to push past the ring of muscles entirely, to make him feel anything than the anticipation of something that was almost good but not enough, not really. Wilson whined. He was ready, he wanted so madly to just yell at Maxwell to enter already and claim him. Just the wait was enough to make him weep lightly out of frustration, biting his lip and pushing his hips on Maxwell, trying to wordlessly ask him to please just come inside and fuck him unconscious... But even more than that he wanted to let Maxwell do it how he wanted, and it was a different kind of excitement to willingly be on his mercy and just have to wait, wait for the pleasure, and it made him shiver. Wilson squirmed and the small silent whines slipped through his lips. Oh god why did Maxwell torment him like this... 

He almost melted when the man finally, suddenly, entered him and slowly pushed all the way in till his base met with Wilson's skin, and the scientist gasped in a shaky breath like he had forgotten how to breathe. Maxwell kept still for a moment, letting the other man adjust to the feeling, and leaned down to kiss his lips. Wilson wrapped his arms over his shoulders and kissed him, deeply, passionately, and he didn't let go when Maxwell started to move again.

Wilson pushed his hips to meet the movements. He felt so full and warm and stuffed, and he wanted Maxwell only closer, so much closer so he would never have to let go of him again. He opened his eyes to look into Maxwell's, and somewhere inside his foggy mind he realized that this was the first time Maxwell had actually looked at him when they were having sex. And there was the fastest, smallest smile on his lips before he pressed to push their lips together again, and Wilson's consciousness disappeared somewhere inside the bliss of their breaths and touches and hushed voices.

It didn't take long for him to reach his peak, coming all over his own abdomen, gasping for air, and he could feel the hand press over his mouth to muffle the voices he made. He clung onto Maxwell like he was the life preserver in the ocean of his exploding mind, the only thing keeping him on his senses and preventing him from drowning. Slowly his head started to return to where it belonged, distantly hearing Maxwell's groan and feeling the man pulling out before releasing his semen over his own, before collapsing over him. Wilson couldn't speak, instead closing Maxwell between his arms as tight as his weak arms let him and pressing his head on his thin hair. He didn't care about the mess on his stomach or the pain or the exhaustion, the only thing he cared about right now was Maxwell.

After a good while of catching their breaths, The magician rose his head up to kiss Wilson, who leaned in to meet his lips.

It felt warm and soft and wet, and all of the sudden Wilson realized, with a blink, that there was something warm and soft and wet flowing out of his eyes, too.

Maxwell seemed to notice as well, he broke off the kiss and pushed himself further from Wilson to inspect him, his forehead wrinkled in worry. Wilson blinked multiple times to dispel the salty drops, but they kept coming.

"I'm sorry, I- I don't know why I'm..." he started laughing, and Maxwell sat up, lifting Wilson to sit with him. Wilson was frantically wiping his face, his vision blurred and unclear "I think, I think I'm just tired, it's been so long since I've felt like... felt like, like, like..." A sob broke from his mouth and he clasped his hand over it. Why did he cry?

"...Felt like...?" Maxwell offered. Wilson let out a confused laugh.

"I'm sorry, I just... I really, really did miss you. And I guess, I'm afraid, and relieved, and excited and scared, and it just all came out?" The scientist let out a short laugh and rubbed his eyes again. Man, he felt so dumb. He wasn't really this sensitive, was he? Maxwell must be very annoyed with him right now, oh god maybe he should've just let the man stay at the firepit, _Maxwell probably didn't want to see all this_ -

The long, cold fingers touched his face softly and wiped the tears from his cheeks. Wilson felt the wet hiccups and sobs bubble out of his mouth. Maxwell moved next to him, and then pulled Wilson down to lay on the fur bedding, wrapping his long arms around the sobbing man and burying his face on his big black hair. Wilson pressed himself closer, he felt like he couldn't get close enough even when his nose was rubbing against Maxwell's throat.

"It's been- been, been a long time since I-I felt like every-thing is fine" Wilson started to explain between his sobs "I don't want you to g-go, go, I want to go with you if you do, and, a-and I want to go home with you and live th'there-ere and buy you a b-bunny and fall asleep nex-t-t to you and f-feel like I'm safe and you-you're safe wi-th me andd-d-d-" the rest of Wilson teary ramblings were so unclear that even he couldn't hear himself anymore.

He had been scared. The whole time he had been so scared and afraid that he couldn't even face that fear and pushed it away from his mind. But now that he was here, and Maxwell was here with him, and they were together and all was fine, the fear broke free from it's prison and took all of it's friends along the ride, and Wilson couldn't contain the outburst.

"Am... Am I, I-I being se-lfish...?" he had to force the words out, the wet hiccups messing with his voice. Maxwell moved his head, his arms slightly tightening around the shorter man.

"No." It was just a one word, but there wasn't any amount of hesitation or dishonestly in it. Wilson sniffed.

"I-I-I'm so-so- sorry that... you ha-have to, to to see thi- is..."

"No, shh, listen. Stop acting like you have hurt me, you haven't. Don't be sorry. I'm not going anywhere." Maxwell rose one of his hands to pet Wilson's hair. Wilson just whimpered and licked his tears as he tried his best, honest to god, he tried his _damn best_ to calm down, but it proved to be harder than he thought.

"Shh. Breathe."

Wilson closed his eyes, trying to gather himself together. He was safe, he was fine, he was warm and comfortable and he was with Maxwell. Breathe.

He concentrated to Maxwell's own silent breaths of air, sniffing, trying his best not to burst out to giant sobbing spree. He moved his head sideways to press his ear on Maxwell's chest. He listened the frail beat that echoed in his ear, setting the rhythm to his own heart that started to slow down it's panicky jumping. Wilson listened the pumping of the heart, letting it slowly lull him into the calm and steady state. He could feel Maxwell calming down with him, stroking fingers through his hair loosely and softly as Wilson's sharp and shaky breaths started to slowly get replaced by the deeper, collected ones.

He wanted to stay like this forever. He wanted to stay here, safely tugged away by the protective arms around him, to feel nothing but a warmth of the body and soft touches and comforting hushes. He wanted to forget the bad things that had happened, the deep-rooted fear and crawling anxiety that haunted him. Here he was fine. Here he could breathe. He could cry and there was someone who would let him cry without judging him, keeping him safe until he wouldn't feel so small and weak anymore.

Wilson cracked his eyes open tiredly, his ear still pressed against Maxwell. He thought about the heartbeat, quiet but steady, beating there all alone. It had been so alone for so long, so much longer than Wilson. Wilson wanted to protect it. He wanted to burrow his hands inside Maxwell and hold that sad, sad thing between his fingers, keep it safe and banish all the regrets and fears that weighted it down. He would take care of it, he would listen to it and hold it close.

Maxwell had been protecting him, too. He held Wilson close and safe, and Wilson knew he could give his heart to Maxwell and the man would hold it gently, carefully, making sure it was sheltered in his hands, make it whole and keep it close enough to hear if it needed to be heard.

"Feel better?" Maxwell mumbled into his hair, and Wilson nodded, finally pulling his head away from the silent, beating tune. He fluttered his eyes, weary and burned out, staring up at Maxwell. The man looked at him, almost invisible smile on his lips. Wilson sighed and whisked his finger through those lips, resulting in the equally weary and burned out hum when Maxwell closed his eyes.

"We should probably clean up" the man murmured, not making any efforts to get up, and neither did Wilson. Screw the mess, they could worry about it in the morning. Right now Wilson didn't have the strength to care about anything else than that he was feeling good and he was so unforgivably tired out of his mind. The exhaustion had returned stronger than before now that there was nothing holding it back, and Wilson felt the overflowing, crushing weariness weighting him down and he let his eyes flutter shut. He blessed the foggy and gentle touch of the sleep that slithered into his mind and wrapped around him. He let a pleased sigh dance through his lips.

"...Maxwell?"

"I swear to god, this time I really thought you were going to sleep." a barely conscious mumble answered him.

Wilson rose his head up, just close enough to reach Maxwell's ear.

"I love you."

This time he got the answer he hoped for.


	24. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even after all the years gone by, there never seems to be any changes happening in the Constant. Well, maybe some small ones.

Wilson found Maxwell where he would always find him after a fight. The man was in the small camp that was built close to the line where the forest met with the field, and was _supposed to_ be used in the case of emergencies - and Maxwell had apparently decided that getting in an argument was emergency that required his absence in the base camp and ran here when ever that happened.

Wilson sighed when he spotted the familiar silhouette leaning against the low stonewall.

"Max, please come back." he begged tiredly, not nearly enough weight in his words to come across as genuinely caring about the situation. It had been a dumb fight over nothing, he didn't even care enough to remember what had started it or what had been the original point.

When no answer came from his partner, Wilson walked beside him, leaning to the wall as well "You know I don't want to fight. Can't we just forget it, please?" he asked again, this time putting in an effort to sound a little more sorry for the argument. Maxwell sighed and shrugged.

"I suppose."

Wilson let out a relieved sigh and rose Maxwell's hand to slip under his armpit, and leaned closer "...So you forgive me, then?"

"For what?" Maxwell glanced at him, rising his eyebrow, and Wilson shrugged awkwardly.

"I don't remember."

"Me neither." Maxwell admitted with another sigh and turned his eyes back at the field. Wilson followed his eyes, watching the rabbits hop around their holes searching for food, close by, but far enough to not get disturbed by their presence.

"...You're not even really mad at me, are you." Wilson stated. Maxwell didn't give him an answer, but the scientist saw his face getting ever so slightly more red than before, his expression shifting into a slight frown.

"Why did you leave the camp and come here, then?"

".... I guess... I guess that I just like knowing that you would miss me if I left." the older man mumbled quietly, pulling Wilson in front of him so he could lean on his back, and Wilson let him. He smiled and run his fingertips on Maxwell's hand.

"You know I would." Wilson hummed and Maxwell sunk his face in the shorter man's wild hair, making him bit his lip to choke down the giggle when Maxwell's nose tickled his scalp.

"I know that you know, Max."

"I do. I just like being sure about it." Maxwell muttered against his head. Wilson rocked himself in his arms slowly and hummed. He didn't like fighting, but it was unavoidable. He knew it was never the end of the world, they would always make up and could move past the petty things that happened every now and then. Still, Wilson would always feel the familiar dark little shadow gnawing his chest when Maxwell left somewhere, sulking and throwing a fit in his anger. Despite the years gone by, despite how much better things were, he knew that neither of them hadn't completely healed from the past yet, and he just didn't like when Maxwell was away.

Wilson wouldn't have ever guessed how long it would take to heal. Somewhere deep inside he feared that he never would, not completely. But he hadn't given up yet, he never would. He wasn't a quitter, he was a fighter. There was _a lot_ of fighting in Constant. Fighting with monsters, fighting with other people, fighting the weather...

And sometimes, like in the last night, fighting the nightmares. Wilson shivered even in the warm daylight, wrapping Maxwell's arms tighter over his smaller body, just like Maxwell had been holding him last night.

The nightmares were so rare that he barely even had them anymore, most of the nights went by as quietly as they possibly could. But when he did have the nightmares, they were so much worse because he had forgotten how terrible they could be. Wilson had woken up teary-eyed and gasping for air like he was choking, whimpering quietly, panicking, shaking away from Maxwell and crying he didn't want to be touched. He hadn't been fully comprehending where he was or if he was in danger, but last night had been far easier than some of the other nightmare-filled nights he had had in the past.

Wilson frowned at the memory, squeezing Maxwell's hand under his own. Sometimes he would be ashamed when he woke up, because more than often when he would wake up trembling and sobbing, he would accuse Maxwell of something horrible, something he in his half-asleep, nightmare-filled mind couldn't understand was not real, and it could take hours to be calmed down enough for him to eventually let Maxwell come close to him and stroke his hair, until he would crawl on his lap and let himself be rocked back to sleep.

And it was terrible to be calmed down only to realize how quiet Maxwell had become, after Wilson had blamed him for the things that he had spend years convincing Maxwell that he was not blamed for, things that Wilson didn't really think he was.

The younger man closed his eyes and just concentrated on Maxwell's steady, slow breathing huffing against his hair when the other man leaned on his head.

He knew Maxwell understood that he didn't mean what he said when he wasn't fully conscious yet, he knew that Maxwell understood that he was just scared and delusional, but Wilson could still sense how he became withdrawn and tense even when he assured Wilson that he was not offended at all by what he said. There were those old wounds, old poison inside that would always surface in those dark moments in the heart of the night.

Maybe that's why Maxwell needed to know that Wilson really missed him, wanted to be sure that Wilson would come to get him back eventually if he went away.

Maybe one day Wilson would say something so bad that Maxwell would go farther than just the spare campsite.

Wilson knew that even thought the last night had been tame, it wasn't impossible that there would be more nights with much more crying, fearing the invisible monsters that wanted to hurt him and blaming Maxwell for things he was not guilty for. Wilson felt bad about it, a familiar guilt rising his head, and he couldn't help himself.

"Don't go away." he whispered weakly, and Maxwell finally rose his face from his hair.

"Uh... I won't?" the man answered, not really following where this came from or where it was headed "Does it really bother you that much if I come here? I didn't mean to upset you-"

"No, I mean-" Wilson paused with a hesitantly held breath, not wanting to bring the unpleasant memories on the table, not willing to ruin the good day with something that neither of them really wanted to talk about "... I just worry about you sometimes." he decided to say instead. Even though the statement itself was vague with it's meaning, it sure seemed to make some kind of point to Maxwell, because the man leaned lower to land a quick, light kiss on his neck. 

"I know. I'm not going anywhere." Maxwell said with a low voice, and started stroking Wilson's hair calmingly. Wilson just closed his eyes.

"I love you."

"Shh."

"Maxwell..."

"Shhh, Wilson."

"Max..."

"I know... I love you too. I'm sorry that I made you worry."

Wilson bit his lip. He hadn't meant to make Maxwell think that he had done something wrong, but he knew better than to deny the apology when Maxwell would offer it - it didn't happen often and Maxwell would take immense offense of not getting his apology accepted.

"I'm sorry too, I didn't mean-"

"I know. Just calm down, love."

Wilson fell quiet. Maxwell seemed to have decided that he really was upset over something, despite his very much calm, unbothered behavior. Or perhaps the man was comforting him to comfort himself. Wilson knew that both of them did that sometimes, finding it easier to relax when their own beloved would be relaxing with them. Maxwell kissed his neck softly and held him tighter, just hushing him in low, soft voice now. Wilson closed his eyes and pressed into the warm chest and wrapped his arms to hold the ones holding him. There was nothing wrong, he was fine, but if Maxwell felt like he should comfort Wilson, he would not try to stop him.

He was just fine. Maxwell was there with him. He was there with Wilson because he wanted to be there, because he chose to be there, and Wilson wanted to think that sometimes Maxwell would even feel happy to be there with him.

There would always be the moments when Wilson would find himself getting unreasonably anxious whenever he didn't know where Maxwell was, for several different reasons, but those moments were few and far between, slowly but surely getting in the past. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but maybe it didn't even need to be.

Wilson pulled Maxwell's other hand on his lips and kissed it, leaning back as the man rocked him slowly, still muttering comforting words to him. Wilson reached his hand up to cup it on Maxwell's cheek, and the other man leaned to his touch, his arms never letting go of Wilson. The younger man chuckled.

"Maxwell, I am fine." he finally said, stuck between being annoyed of being unnecessary cared for like a kid and amused of being cared for like this even though everything was clearly okay.

"I know."

"Okay... why are you hushing me and holding me so tightly then?"

"Well, for one, you always ruin the perfect moments by talking and talking to no end, and two... " Maxwell grabbed his hips and suddenly Wilson was lifted from the ground, placed to sit on the wall, and turned around to face the other man "... Can't a man keep his precious close?"

Wilson smirked and wrapped his legs around Maxwell, yanking him close and leaning to push their noses together "I thought you _liked_ listening to my voice" he smirked with mischievous tone on his voice. Maxwell just rose his eyebrow.

"Yes, when you actually have something to say." the man retorted with only a little bite carrying in his tone.

"I'm getting the feeling that you are trying to insult me." 

"I am amazed by your ability to understand something as complex as that. Is there anyone as incredibly smart as you, Higgsbury?"

"Shut up" Wilson laughed, pecking a small kiss on Maxwell's lips "I'm not the one always ruining the moments. You do it far more often than I."

"It's a talent, love. You have been picking it up well."

Wilson breathed out a quiet humming sound and leaned his head down on the other man's shoulder. He wouldn't mind staying like this a whole day long. He wouldn't mind breathing in the scent and feeling the cold, sharp fingertips on his neck and the familiar rugged fabric of Maxwell's jacket against his cheek.

"You know... " he murmured against his throat "It would be a shame to waste this pretty afternoon just sitting here."

"... Please tell me you don't need me to volunteer to some ungodly dangerous science experiment, because despite what you may think I do not have such a great death wish that-"

"No, I was thinking more like... making up with you, like... properly reconciling the fight we had..."

Maxwell paused, and although the man's silence was short, Wilson could feel his neck getting hot (he had not gotten over the awkwardness of suggestive flirting). After a short while Maxwell huffed in amused manner "You mean the fight which neither of us can even remember?"

Wilson shrugged and shrunk down, hiding his bright red face in Maxwell's shoulder "Wouldn't it be nicer to bury a hatchet anyway, even if we don't remember?"

Maxwell just leaned down to kiss his ear and letting his arms fall down to Wilson's hips.

"How could I say no to you when you ask so nicely?"

There was no hint of mockery in his voice anymore, just a familiar, soft timbre that was meant just for Wilson, just for the moments like this. The shorter man emerged from his hiding spot to meet the smile that he gladly returned with the same amount of fondness, gifting his partner with a long, caring kiss that would always mean much more than either of them could begin to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so this got kinda sappy, but hey despite my incredible love for the angst and horrible things happenig I also just love happy endings, or at least somewhat happy ones.
> 
> I thank you all for reading, it has been very encouraging for me since I actually never posted any of my writing anywhere for like a decade or so and wasn't expecting anyone to actually like what I write lol.


	25. artwork and rambles nobody asked for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I often doodle and sketch when I write because I don't know, it helps me visualize things better? Though the art doesn't always have anything at all to do with the actual story, it sometimes just helps me to get the feel and also I just generally think that drawing and writing compliment each other very well as a form of art and storytelling~

This exist because sometimes I have to make fun of myself to be less paranoid of the fact that someone else might do it too.

This was a short cutsie scene that I wanted to add and really tried to fit somewhere but it just felt out of place and I decided to not include it :/ Wilson just wants to hug and Maxwell is like SOS WHAT IS HAPPENING WHY ARE YOU BEING NICE TO ME

This one's just a sleepy cuddling picture that has nothing to do with anything but I kinda started to associate it with this fic soo... yeah. Maxwell just tries to sleep for once but it's kinda difficult when his boyfriend tries to be his pillow, blanket and mattress all at once.

Another scene I ended up deleting because it didn't feel like it belonged anywhere :c Maxwell is trying to return the hug Wilson gave him earlier and Wilson is just very happy about it. Poor Maxwell, he has no idea how to hug people without being awkward. But god does he try.

Wilson stop neglecting your boyfriend.

Baby boi needs help ;__; He scared.

(Mother don't look.)

They're not sure how to be in relationship yet, but they are getting there ;>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, that's about it. Once again I thank you all and hope you liked reading this fic as much as I liked writing it!


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